


Heavy

by Sifl



Category: Dragon Ball, Dragon Ball Z
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Asexual Character, Coming of Age, Existential Crisis, Gohan's silly little high school life, Great Saiyaman, Growing Up, Introspection, Multi, NOBODY GOES TO SPACE!, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Romantic Friendship, Superpowers, Unrequited Love, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Villains that are not Majinn Buu, these are homegrown villains!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-14
Updated: 2018-01-18
Packaged: 2018-04-14 17:42:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 43
Words: 178,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4573752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sifl/pseuds/Sifl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Son Gohan is heir to Vegeta's ire, his grandfather's kingdom, his father's legacy, his mother's regrets, and the interest of a mysterious cult that worships the anonymous golden warriors from the Cell Games. He clings to the hope of normalcy within his father's shadow, but it can't hide him forever. (Introspective Post-Cell AU.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Familiarity Echoes

The sky shimmered blue and white above an expanse of green. A golden cloud painted a single faded streak of yellow across the horizon to break up the monotony of it all.

A herd of dinosaurs looked up at it, shrugged, and continued grazing on the green grass beneath the late morning shade of Mount Paozu. 

Their shepherd, a grizzled man with lopsided ears, spat out a wad of tobacco with equal nonchalance. It smacked one of his inattentive charges between its two reptilian eyes. The creature shrieked and shook its head violently before honking at its caretaker in annoyance. 

"Quit'cher bitchin'," the shepherd muttered, and waved to the tiger hailing him from the little pickup truck put-putting on the highway by the dinosaur pasture. After the morning pleasantries were finished, the shepherd didn't even bother trying to trace the golden arc in the sky with his eyes.

There was nothing inherently interesting about the Son boys so long as nobody thought too hard about them.

\---

Orange Star City was changing from a reminder to the mountains of what civilization looked like and into a sprawling metropolis that glorified the Hero Who Saved The World, but it was not quite finished with its transformation.

The urban world had been a propaganda wasteland for two years. Neither Gohan nor Goten could really say if it had ever been much different in the time before that. Besides, they were too preoccupied to worry themselves over the accuracy of Hercule Satan's cast iron likeness or to curse the victory posters plastering over every inch of the city's windows and walls.

To Gohan, the visage of Mr. Satan swimming within the confines of Cell paraphernalia was almost comforting. The man's giant grin and voluminous presence covered over the truth of the Earth's last crisis.

Hercule Satan defeated Cell. Hercule Satan was a hero. Son Goku hadn't been there, didn't need to be there, and therefore wasn't there to die in the name of his son's mistakes. Gohan wanted to be seduced by the fairytale.

Goten just liked to point and laugh at Hercule's afro.

When he realized his big brother was not paying attention to his joy, Goten blew a raspberry from within the baby carrier Gohan had strapped him in and reached up and behind to pull his brother back to reality by the nose.

"Hey! Do that again and I will make you ride on my back and not my front for the ride home," Gohan griped.

Goten babbled something sour and pouted.

In response, Gohan ruffled Goten's hair and looked around for the grocery store. Every window and billboard advertised Mr. Satan's bravery, and, as nice as that was, both boys were in search of something more substantial. Gohan chose a building and walked in. It was a restaurant.

"Welcome!" An old sow wiped her hooves on her apron and greeted them. "Would you boys be looking for one of your parents, or are you eating by yourselves today?"

"Both," thought Gohan, but he stifled his answer in favor of subduing his little brother as the infant reached for the nostrils of their hostess. At that, Goten cried- he was already cranky enough from hunger and Gohan's killjoy attitude was not doing the baby's mood any favors. "We will be eating by ourselves today, ma'am," Gohan decided with a bow.

Goten did not like facing parallel to the floor and threw his hands up to slap his brother in the face with another declaration of upset. Gohan straightened out and shushed him.

It occurred to the older boy that he was clueless about the type of cuisine they offered here, but he honestly did not think it mattered. He could eat anything, and Goten would eat anything.

The hostess led them to a booth near the restrooms. Gohan was grateful. His brother had a tendency to make a mess on his face while at the table and a mess of his pants shortly thereafter.

Once they were seated and Gohan had a chance to peruse the menu, he was tempted to order one of everything. Unfortunately, he was old enough to know that he did not have that freedom. He settled for five entrées for Goten and three for himself.

"You must be very hungry," their waitress, a woman with prematurely greying hair, smiled as she jotted down Gohan's order.

"Please believe me when I tell you that you have no idea," Gohan told her. He took Goten from the baby carrier and bounced the child upon his knee.

When their food came, the waitress enlisted the help of a girl around Gohan's age to help her carry it from the kitchen to the table. Gohan stood in an attempt to help them, but the older woman smiled and laid the food in front of the boys before beckoning for her assistant to do the same. Goten drooled from his seat on his big brother's knee and eyed the meal.

"Thank you," Gohan said. He smiled at the woman. He smiled at the girl, too, and then turned to feed Goten a plate of noodles.

When Goten made it about halfway through the first entrée, Gohan noticed the girl was staring at him.

"Is something wrong?" Gohan asked, halting his brother from inhaling the noodles to give him a sip of water.

"Oh!" She said. "It's nothing. Your brother likes the food?"

Gohan scraped the last of the noodles into his brother's mouth. "I think so," the older boy said. "He will really eat whatever you put in front of him, though, so I cannot ever tell." Gohan gave Goten another sip of water and then introduced the baby to the bowl of beef and vegetables.

The girl continued to gape as Goten downed the rest of his lunch.

Gohan suddenly felt nervous about eating his own. "Excuse me, but could you please bring us some horseradish sauce? I think we may need it," he lied as he wiped off Goten's face.

The girl blinked. Gohan noticed that her eyes were green. It upset him.

She turned away in search of the horseradish while marveling to herself about how someone's hair could be the color of their eyes, and their eyes the color of the deepest reaches of space.

Once he was unsupervised, Gohan snatched up his plate of pork fried rice and began to pack it into his mouth. He was about three mouthfuls in when Goten started to cry and tug at his brother's sleeves. The baby wanted more.

With a sigh, Gohan gave the rest of his plate to Goten. When the little one begged for even more after that, Gohan relented and gave him the next two plates.

The green-eyed girl returned with the horseradish just in time to see Goten polish off the last of eight adult entrées with a burp.

"I guess we didn't need the horseradish after all," Gohan laughed apologetically.

The girl nodded dumbly and reached for the stack of empty plates. "Um, do you want anything else?" She finally managed.

"No, thank you," Gohan lied again to drown out the deep growl of his stomach. "This was plenty." Furtively, he eyed Goten and was relieved to see the baby was dozing off in satisfaction.

"I'll get the check," the girl said as she toted the dirty dishes back to the kitchen.

A sigh escaped Gohan's lips as he leaned back against the seat of the corner booth. He had calculated out exactly how much grocery money today's trip required and exactly how much he could spend on extraneous things beforehand. His stomach growled again. Idly, he wondered how angry his mother would be if he ate all of the groceries before they made their way home.

The girl and the older waitress interrupted Gohan's visions of motherly punishment with the lunch bill. Gohan wondered if, after he paid it, the restaurant would let him eat the paper it was printed on. He squelched the question along with the hollowness in his stomach as he pulled out his wallet, double-checked the written total with the number he had calculated in his head, and paid for the meal.

The waitress, smiling, walked away with the money. The girl stayed put and stared at Gohan with her too-green eyes.

The older boy occupied himself with propping his sleeping little brother into a more comfortable position in an effort to avoid conversation.

It did not work. The girl leaned over to look closer at his face. "Excuse me, but do I know you?"

Gohan wanted to find a poster and hide behind Hercule's too-wide grin. "I do not believe so."

"Really?" She said, frowning and looking closer. "I swear I've seen you somewhere before."

"Perhaps you have me confused with someone else," Gohan reasoned. "I am sure many other people around here look like me. Dark hair and dark eyes are not that uncommon." He forced a laugh.

The girl frowned. Gohan looked at her hair to distract him from her unsettling gaze. The color reminded him of Trunks even though it was too dark to be an exact match. "But that's just it- your hair is black. Like, black black. Not blue-black, not dark brown. It's like it shines, but it doesn't shine. I don't know how to explain it." The girl looked down at Goten. "The baby's hair kind of does it, but not as much as yours."

Goten yawned.

"I have never noticed it was any different," Gohan mused. "I just know it sticks out everywhere."

The girl laughed. "Well, I didn't want to say anything about that. After all, my hair looks funny too- it's purple."

Gohan smiled. He did not know what to say to someone who lived a normal life in a normal city. "Do you know where the grocery store is? I cannot tell what is what behind all these pictures of The Earth's Savior."

The girl laughed again and Gohan noticed that her face scrunched together when she did. "It's the biggest building on this road," she said. "If you go out the door and head to the left, you'll find it. It's the one that has the big, blue posters of Mr. Satan endorsing bananas and stuff on it. Say," she said, searching Gohan with her big eyes again, "are you really not from around here?"

"No," Gohan sounded out the word carefully, like it could bite him.

"Where do you live?"

"I'm from the mountains just south of town," he told her.

"That's crazy! Anything you get at the store is gonna go bad before you make it home." She shook her head, and then smiled again. "Do you want to use one of our cold storage capsules? Papa has some extra that this week's meat was shipped in. They are really cool- they can hold anything that can fit into a space about the size of these two tables." The Brief family were almost as omnipresent as the shadows Mr. Satan cast upon the city walls.

"That is very kind of you, but how would I get it back to you before you need it again?" Gohan wanted to take the offer. It would be much easier and safer to hold both the capsule and Goten in his lap on the Flying Nimbus rather than strap the food onto the golden cloud and fly himself home with Goten attached to his chest.

"I said we had extra," the girl told him. "I will ask papa if you can just have one. She turned to go back into the kitchen before Gohan could even reply. "Papa!" She called.

The older boy started after her, but then remembered the sleeping baby in his lap. Gohan settled for stroking his little brother's hair and examining the color. It looked normal to him.

The girl half-jogged back to the Son boys' table with a little blue capsule clutched in her hand and her dark locks swinging behind her. She laid the little pill-shaped device down in front of Gohan. "You hit the little button on top and throw it at what you want it to store," she said. "And hey, what is your name?"

Gohan had no sooner opened his mouth to thank her and introduce himself when he felt something warm and heavy fill Goten's place in his lap. A horrible smell followed. "Excuse me," he panicked, grabbing his baby brother and rushing him to the nearby restroom.

The lunch rush had flowed into the restaurant in full by the time Gohan finished cleaning and changing Goten. He took the little blue capsule from where it lay waiting on the table and slipped out the door without so much as disturbing the welcome bell.

\---

The girl at the restaurant was sure she had seen that boy before. He hid in her thoughts and peeked at her from the edges of her memory.

He had been holding an umbrella. It was as dark as his clothes, as somber as his hair, and as black as his eyes.

But the flowers in his hands had been white.

\---

After he and his mother bathed Goten and put the baby to bed, Gohan stared at his reflection in the mirror long and hard.

He had always assumed he was normal; in his heart, he believed he was human. In truth, he barely understood what that even meant.

Gohan wanted to learn, but he was too scared to try and survive the world beneath Mount Paozu for more than a little while at a time. Slowly, his thoughts turned to the purple-haired girl at the restaurant and how much she had scared him.

He cowered between the covers of his world history books and made himself believe that he could learn everything he wanted to know about the planet from inside his bedroom.

His mother approved, and the years passed.


	2. The Way to a Man's Heart is Through His Stomach, Dende!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And now, a word from the Lookout.

The universe sat in layers, Dende knew, much like the earth's soil formed in distinct sheets beneath the surface. Gohan had told him as much during his last visit.

To Dende, it was all fascinating. The Earth was marked by massive and catastrophic events so deeply imbedded in its past that the striations in the ground reeked of them. The Earth had many stripes and many scars while the Namek that Dende had known bore exactly one.

The only real catastrophe that ever befell the idyllic green planet was the great drought that happened before Dende had even been a tiny speck on the horizon of history. It was because of the wishing orbs- the Dragon Balls. His people had used them to quell the events that threatened their planet and smooth over all wars and disease that disturbed their quiet existence.

Namek had been so green, so smooth, and so calm. New Namek was even more so. It was like a newborn child, untouched by age or hardship.

Dende's people would see to it that their new planet remained innocent. The Namekians themselves were very much of one heart and one mind, and each new hatchling was just another variation on a theme of peace. Dende was, too- he was connected to them and could sense their collective heartbeat even now, much like he was a part of this planet and could always feel the energy of its Dragon.

The Dragon. The people of Earth had used Shenlong selfishly when Kami had been the planet's Guardian, and Dende supposed that such a malicious mentality explained why the universe even needed a hell to sit above the realm of mortals.

Dende looked up to acknowledge the higher plane, but there was no way to see it through the blue expanse of the Earth's sky. 

Sometimes, he wondered if he had made the correct decision to come be a part of this planet and live so far from his home and brethren.

A light breeze carried a distinct energy signature to Dende as if to remind him why he believed in the Earth. The feeling grew stronger with each passing second. He put down his staff and dashed inside to boil water for tea. "Mister Popo," he called, locating the kettle, "would you be so kind as to inform me when this is ready to pour?"

The genie appeared in the doorway to the little kitchen and laughed. "I will be more than happy finish making the tea and bring it to you, if you like."

Dende smiled. "I would appreciate that very much."

Popo scooted past the little Guardian and escorted him to the doorway with a gentle push. "Go play," he said, and conjured up a tray from thin air.

Gohan had already arrived by the time Dende made it back outside the Lookout's pavilion. He stood in the center of the tiled floor and held Dende's abandoned staff in his hand. "Oh!" Gohan lifted it up to his friend in greeting. "I thought something was wrong when I found your staff on the ground. Hello, Dende!"

The Guardian blinked when he realized how unceremoniously he had dumped Kami's old keepsake in his rush. He reached out and took the staff from Gohan. "No, I just knew you were coming and realized I should make you some tea before you made it up here," he said, smiling sheepishly.

"Tea?" Gohan said. "You didn't have to do that. Mom will want me home in time for dinner, anyway, so I can't stay that long. I came to drop off that book I had told you about last time." He pulled a hardcover history textbook out from the bag slung over his shoulder. "It's pretty dry, but it will tell you everything you want to know about the world events of this half of the continent."

"Oh, thank you," Dende said, tucking it under his arm. "Can you not stay for even a little while?"

Gohan frowned. "Well, technically, there is no time that I have to be back because I did not tell my mom I was coming here. So, no, she never actually gave me a curfew or anything, I just know she'll want me safe at home to do my studies," he finished, raising his voice in a crude but loving imitation of Chi Chi.

Dende's face fell. "Well, I suppose there is always next time." The Guardian wished he could think of some other way to entice his friend to stay. Gohan's visits, while not entirely infrequent, were becoming shorter and shorter.

Mister Popo emerged from the pavilion as if by magic with a tray for tea in one hand and a plate heaping with sandwiches and cookies in the other. Piccolo appeared from behind the genie with two more plates, one full of small cakes and the other of ham and cheese rolls, and approached the two children.

"I don't understand the fascination with dainty foods to have with tea," Piccolo muttered. "In fact, I barely understand the appeal of this at all."

Mister Popo smiled wider and knowingly. "The tea is ready. We will set it on the table by the butterfly garden for whenever you want it," he said airily.

Piccolo nodded at Gohan and followed Mister Popo. The boy was too busy eyeing the food to have a good laugh at his stoic mentor playing waiter with petit fours.

Dende could have kissed Mister Popo and Piccolo both. Instead, he turned back to Gohan. "Are you sure you don't want to stay for tea?" He fished.

Gohan kept one eye trained on the food. "I don't think it would hurt to stay for a little while," he reasoned.

Dende took his friend by the hand and led him to the table.

The universe was layered. Namek and the Earth both existed near the bottom, where all mortals dwell, and looked at each other from opposite ends of their shared slice of the cosmos. They never should have had any reason to know of one another's existence.

Of all the twists of fate the gods had bestowed upon him and his world, the privilege of knowing Gohan of Earth was the one Dende the Namekian was most grateful for.

\---

Goten was forming his first full sentence beyond "No" and "I'm hungry." Chi Chi sat next to his high chair in anticipation.

"Goha da?" He chirped, kicking his feet and looking at his mother.

"Gohan?" She cooed. "What about Gohan?"

"I'i Goha da?" Goten tried again, patiently.

Chi Chi shook her head. "I don't know what you want to tell me about your brother. But you are such a big boy! Yes you are!"

"Is Goha dada?"

Chi Chi stopped smiling.

\---

Mister Popo had served every Guardian the Earth had the blessed fortune to host. He had seen every century and worthy hero come and go, and held all of that history behind a placid face.

Piccolo had an idea of what the genie had thought of Goku because of Kami's memories, but he had no clue what Mister Popo was thinking whenever Gohan came to summit the Lookout, or why he smiled softer whenever he saw the boy with Dende.

In fact, whenever he thought about Mister Popo, Piccolo could feel how young he really was in the grand scheme of things and how little he truly understood. The two children in front of him were barely younger.

He would protect Gohan and Dende forever, if he could, but he knew that his influence could only do so much for them. 

The Nameless Namek watched as Gohan, the child who had surpassed Piccolo, laughed with Dende, the hatchling who had outlived Nail and replaced Kami, and felt very small.

\---

Gohan returned home to Chi Chi. She had Goten in her arms and was rocking him back and forth in the living room. She did not even bother to scold her eldest for his absence, and Gohan made the wise decision to not look a gift horse in the mouth.

Instead, he laid a package full of Dende's leftover cakes on the table for his mother and his brother to share later. "I will make dinner," he volunteered, and left Chi Chi alone while he sautéed vegetables and thought about what it meant to see the world from above and beyond the confines of a history book.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love the Namekians. I hope you do, too. Thank you for reading!


	3. Pride is a Sin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vegeta loses one battle and wins another.

West City was enormous. The Son family came face to face with it around sunset; the skyscrapers and iconic circular domes mounted on stacks of spindly lower floors cut the edge of the light orange sky into jagged little strips. It was as if the city were trying to eliminate the heavens from the horizon bit by bit.

Chi Chi held Goten closer to her as he tried to stand on the edge of the Nimbus. The little boy was almost five now, and he badly needed some new clothes. He was too big for his older brother's baby hand-me-downs and too small for Gohan's six-year-old ones.

Chi Chi had misplaced the five-year-old outfits when her husband had misplaced their eldest son. She cast an eye to Gohan from where he flew beside the Nimbus.

"Did you remember to pack your toothbrush?" Chi Chi asked.

Gohan laughed. "Yes, and I packed Goten's, too. But I was more concerned about bringing extra underwear. I figured Bulma could spot us toiletries if we really needed them, but I did not think she would appreciate us taking her laundry." Gohan scooted his face closer to his little brother. "What do you think of East City at night, little man?"

"I think I want mom to stop squeezing me!" Goten protested, fighting Chi Chi's arms away from his body.

"Goten!" Chi Chi barked. "I just don't want you to fall!"

"I won't!" The boy whined. He stood up and perched onto the front of the Nimbus cloud. "Wow," Goten said, leaning forward. His mother blanched, but held herself back.

Goten was utterly fearless, and every word out of his mouth was an echo of his late father. When he had come kicking and screaming into the world, Chi Chi had known exactly what to do for him and exactly how much it would fray on her nerves. She had not been so assured with Gohan.

Chi Chi used to think that her approach in raising her youngest versus her oldest was a result of First Child Syndrome, but when she looked at the two of them side by side, she knew that this had not been the case.

Goten chose to sit on the most dangerous part of the cloud and out of his mother's reach. If Bulma were to ask him if he wanted to leave everything he knew to go find the Dragon Balls, he would be gone before the end of the sentence.

Her Gohan, on the other hand, would have hidden behind his mother and let her handle the refusal.

Goten stood on one foot at the edge of the speeding golden cloud and lost his balance. Chi Chi willed herself to let him fall.

Soon, Goten's familiar hairstyle floated back into his mother's line of sight. Gohan had swooped down and caught the little boy on his back. "Goten, that was dangerous!" His big brother scolded. "Think about what it would do to me and mom if something happened to you!"

Goten ignored him. "That was awesome! Hey, Gohan, can you fly faster than the Nimbus?" He stuck his arms out in front of himself and pretended to steer. "I'm a jet pilot! Nrrrreeeeeooooowwww! Nrrreeeeeeowww!"

Chi Chi watched as Gohan's heated scolding settled into a disgruntled frown. He looked over to his mother for guidance. Chi Chi just shrugged.

Gohan accelerated in front of the Nimbus and did a few loop-de-loops. When that was done, he slowed down to match the Nimbus's pace once again and let Goten do the talking for the rest of the trip to the Briefs complex.

Chi Chi was used to the brash attitude her youngest held, even when it unnerved her. Gohan was more of a puzzle. He was infinitely more sensitive and more fragile, and he needed the approval and support of others more than Goten ever would.

Chi Chi had controlled and henpecked Gohan so much more because he, unlike his father and baby brother, would let her.

She watched as Goten kicked his heels into his brother and urged him to speed back up. At first, Gohan refused, but when Goten started to pout and give the cold shoulder, he relented.

Chi Chi had capitalized upon her oldest child's passive nature a little too much, she supposed.

Bulma greeted them at her front door. 

Chi Chi considered public school.

\---

Vegeta let the water pour down on him and closed his eyes. Trunks was a good boy and worked hard in the gravity room, but he had made his father run back and forth from the gravity controls every ten minutes because he kept overestimating himself.

"Or maybe," Bulma's voice rang in Vegeta's head, "You overestimated what he could do and he did not want to say anything to upset you!"

Vegeta turned the water pressure higher to drown her out. It did nothing against his clenched attitude.

Perhaps he should ask Dr. Briefs to install gravity controls in the bathroom.

Vegeta shook the thought away along with the water in his hair as he finished his shower. He stepped onto the pristine white tiles and opted to wrap a towel around his waist instead of taking the time to dry off. After he caught a glimpse of himself in the fogged mirror, he headed to the kitchen in search of something to eat.

He found Trunks and Kakkarot's two sons cleaning out his pantry instead.

"What are you doing here and why are you eating all of my food?" Vegeta growled, snatching a dinosaur leg out of the smaller Son's hands. He put the whole thing in his mouth, pulled out the bone, and then swallowed the meat down in one gulp.

The whole ordeal reminded Gohan of a snake eating a mouse. "Hello, Vegeta," the boy said evenly. "Bulma invited us over to stay the night. She said we could have this for dinner."

Vegeta sneered and looked from Trunks, to Gohan, and finally to Goten as the latter slowly inched towards the other dinosaur leg. "The woman did not have the decency to inform me of this," he finally griped, and swatted Goten's hand away. "Show some respect, brat, and wait until I am done addressing you." Vegeta turned on his heel and produced a protein shake from the refrigerator.

Gohan watched as the man made his way to the doorway and leaned against it. The dying light of the sunset filtered in through the kitchen window and cast a shadow over Vegeta's face. Gohan could sense his inky eyes as they glinted from within the darkness.

"Go ahead," Vegeta told them. "Eat. I can't stop you."

Trunks and Goten took his words as their cue to continue devouring their meal like a drowning man inhales air. Gohan knew, however, that the little boys were not who Vegeta was talking to anymore. "Would you like to join us?" The oldest boy asked, his hands politely folded in his lap.

Vegeta tore his lips away from his drink. "This is my house. I would have joined you if I damned well pleased, with or without your permission or approval," he lied.

Gohan nodded, his open expression illuminated by the halogen lights above his head. He closed his eyes and turned away from Vegeta in favor of passing the pepper to Trunks.

The Saiyan Prince hated feeling inferior, and he hated it even more that Kakkarot's son, of all people, effortlessly made him feel so. Cell's screams floated through his head. Vegeta narrowed his eyes. "Have you been training?"

Gohan smiled. "No. My mom is not very eager to let me, either."

How arrogant. How arrogant of Son Gohan to walk into a warrior's house and eat his food without bothering to even prepare to take it by force. Vegeta felt the can in his hand compress beneath his fingers. The boy had even gone so far as to offer to share what he had taken.

"This is not a confrontation," Gohan said. Trunks had stopped eating and was looking from Gohan's brightly lit face to his father's shrouded one. Goten had not noticed the shift in the air and kept cramming potato chips into his open mouth. Once he was done with those, the little boy moved on to the ham sandwiches.

"Don't be a fool. You are a Saiyan. Your life is confrontation and no amount of your peaceful pretenses shall ever change that." Vegeta crossed his arms.

Gohan opened his own arms and reached out for his water. "Maybe. Maybe not."

"Do not dare deny it," Vegeta seethed.

"I am not like you," Gohan told him carefully. "And I am not like my father. I respect you and wish to honor him, but I inherited no pride with his blood."

"You spineless--!"

Gohan put his palms together and interlaced his fingers. He looked from Vegeta to Trunks meaningfully. "One day, I hope you will understand."

"Not everyone disappoints their elders," Vegeta spat.

His words hit something- Vegeta could see it in the boy's eyes. Gohan only smiled wider. "How lucky I am that others surpass me and allow me to do so."

Defeated, Vegeta crushed his can and sent chocolate protein spraying onto the floor. He threw the can in the trash bin across the room and skulked away.

Trunks watched his father go. He started to say something to try and call Vegeta back, but then he noticed Goten had decimated all of the ham sandwiches and was halfway through the fruit salad. "I wanted some of those!" Trunks shouted, and threw himself at his best friend.

Gohan had just barely broken their wrestling match apart when Bulma and Chi Chi discovered them all covered in food and the kitchen table snapped in two.

\---

After Gohan had put the younger boys to bed and affirmed that Vegeta had not yet crushed himself in the gravity room, Bulma and Chi Chi retired to the living room. Bulma giggled to herself as Chi Chi quietly admired the plush leather couches and designer lamps.

"Are you going to get Gohan any new clothes tomorrow?" Bulma asked her friend.

"I had planned on buying him a few formal outfits- a new suit and a dress shirt for more modern occasions, but no, I had thought to focus on Goten. I don't have the energy or fabric to make him new ones right now." Chi Chi frowned. "Does he need them?"

Bulma laughed. "If you want the kids at school to stare at him during the entrance exams, then he's fine exactly the way he is."

"My little boy looks like the handsome prince he was born to be!" Chi Chi exclaimed.

Bulma laughed harder. "That's just it- most people aren't the grandsons of warlords. The traditional clothes are cute, but they aren't very low-key." She flipped her blue hair. "And wearing outfits that his mommy made won't exactly do Gohan any favors, either."

Chi Chi's face reminded Bulma of the little girl her friend had once been, back when they were barely acquaintances at the foot of Fry-Pan mountain. "What's wrong with me making his clothes?"

"Chi Chi, I hate to break this to you, but the kids these days see those kind of traditional families as uncool. Also, this is the city. Nobody does that here at all. They'll think it is just weird."

"Well, my boys were raised with pride in their heritage," Chi Chi pouted.

Bulma snickered. "You sound like Vegeta," she said, and got a silken throw pillow to the face in reply. Bulma volleyed it back.

The war continued until Vegeta, clothed in nothing but a towel, busted in and told them they were both idiots.

\---

Television was a luxury that Gohan and Goten did not usually have. The reception on Mount Paozu was spotty for their local channels and downright abysmal for everything else save the worldwide news.

The electronic store window at the West City Mall was full of television screens depicting a children's program. The Son boys gaped at the rows and rows of alluring digital entertainment and dumbly followed along with the moving pictures. There was no sound, but Gohan was able to gather that the main plot centered around a group of teenaged crime fighters who were hand-picked by Mister Satan.

"Oh, it's Super Mega Ranger Squad," Trunks scoffed. "It's for little kids. Really lame." He walked off after his mother without a second glance.

The group leader- the Super-est, Mega-est Ranger, Gohan supposed- had a billowing white cape that swooshed behind him as he dove into the air to save a little boy from falling off a building.

Chi Chi called to her boys to hurry up so they wouldn't get lost. Goten whined and lingered a moment longer, but trotted over to his mother all the same. Gohan was slower to obey.

The villain was an evil alien that was trying to destroy the planet. The squad of superheroes punched him in the face and saved the day. Soon after, the alien was thrown in jail and the episode ended with a shot of the protagonists standing heroically on top of the city's skyscrapers while the people cheered them on.

"Gohan!" His mother called.

"Oh, sorry," he said, jogging to catch up with his family and the Briefs. 

Gohan gave one last look in the direction of the electronics store and thought of Piccolo.

\---

The white tiles of the Lookout reflected the sky above and so appeared as a pool of water sitting in the basin of a giant cup floating in the heavens. Dende slowly walked on the pristine surface like a prophet over a calmed ocean until he was side by side with the meditating Piccolo.

"Kami, or Nail, or even Piccolo, for you might have an answer," the young Guardian started, "How did you know when you found something so precious to you that you wanted to protect it for the rest of your days?"

Piccolo is all three of them, and yet he is also not; he is what was born of their hope and desperation. "You just know," he says, and part of him understands what Dende is really asking.

Dende nods and floats on the mirror of the sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want everyone to be fully aware that in place of "clenched attitude", I seriously considered leaving my original draft wording of "clenched ass".
> 
> Also, I have some reservations about including that little bit from Piccolo and Dende at the end because it feels a little funny considering that Gohan had JUST mentioned the Big Green Mean Machine, but I don't think it fits well in the next chapter and I want to keep it.


	4. Fresh Meat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gohan is in very high demand.

The class faced forward and sized up the newest addition to their fold.

Gohan bravely smiled and waved back at the prejudiced amphitheater of his peers. He felt like a monkey performing for coins in those street shows Yamcha had told him about when he was younger. Maybe if he could find a fez to wear and a pair of cymbals to slap together, he would not feel so inconspicuous. "Hello! It is nice to make your acquaintance. I am Son Gohan."

The class, decidedly underwhelmed, collectively blinked back at him.

Gohan's nerves were already wound up from transforming not an hour ago to stop a bank robbery. He could still feel the latent catalytic adrenaline flooding into his brain, and it made the confrontational stares of his student body that much harder to take. With a blank smile, Gohan suppressed the part of him that suggested dominance was synonymous with safety and focused on finding a seat to fit into.

A blonde girl near the back offered him a seat by her and her two friends. 

When the blonde girl introduced her female friend Videl as Hercule Satan's daughter, Gohan wanted to laugh.

And when the superficially buff male of the trio called their new friend a scrawny nerd, Gohan did.

But when Videl implied that Gohan was a freak in sheep's clothing, he wanted to cry.

\---

Orange Star High School was one of the city's last relics of an age gone by. After Hercule Satan had destroyed the greatest single threat ever to befall the planet Earth, his image had spread forth and claimed first Orange Star City's advertisements, then the public buildings, then the main avenue, and finally the title of the city itself. In fact, most of Sevoya's world was remade in his image by the time she was sixteen, and she found the high school's enduring name to be a surreal reminder that there had, in fact, been a time when her family had sat her down and asked her to accept that there was no God and that they were all going to die.

Her miraculously prolonged life felt decidedly shallow in the wake of that experience.

The day's foreign language exercises all centered around Satan City's new namesake hero and the joyous occasion that marked the beginning of the first annual Hercule Festival.

Sevoya droned out her teacher's lecture on dependent and independent clauses and thought about the boy she saw in all black during the very first post-Cell Games celebrations. He had been the only mourner in a sea of alcohol, confetti, streamers, flashers, vomit, and other brightly colored debauchery. That was why he was so engrained in her memory- that, and the fact that he was the only member of the surviving population who thought to use an umbrella during the torrential downpour that oversaw the first leg of the festivities.

At the time, Sevoya had not thought to ask the boy who he was mourning for or if the bouquet of lilies he had brought were for Cell or Hercule or for a different occasion altogether. It was a trivial thing, really, but it had always tormented her like an itch that she could never reach to scratch.

Sevoya sighed. The forlorn boy with the black hair and black clothes was gone and the mystery would remain eternally unsolved. She was doomed to forever read about the event that both hosted and contradicted his very existence in her crappy little workbook- EVERYONE was happy the day Cell died, her grammar book boasted, and NOBODY cried anything other than happy tears. The mourner was an impossible figment of Sevoya's imagination.

And then he walked right by her at the class change.

\---

Goten sat beneath his mother's freshly hung laundry. The landscape of Mount Paozu was as lush and green as ever, featuring deep forests and rambling brooks that called out for boy adventurers to explore and conquer with the help of their most beloved guardian and brother.

"Is Gohan home yet?" The little child asked his mother.

"No," Chi Chi said, gathering up her laundry basket. "And if you ask again today, then you will have to spar with me while wearing a fifty pound weight instead of a twenty five pound one."

Goten ran all the way to the dinosaur pasture at the foot of the mountain and chased the frantic livestock around to kill some time.

\---

Vegeta could see Gohan's arrival from the sole window of the gravity room. The Son's little golden cloud popped out from the sleek and futuristic backdrop of East City like one of the paper cutouts from the illustrated children's edition of _The Monkey King_ Bulma had purchased for Trunks.

Idly, Vegeta considered finding the colorful volume on his son's shelves and throwing it at Gohan's head. The insult that little baby stories were all the insolent mongrel could handle anymore would pair well with such a stunt, but knowing Kakkarrot's son, he would probably enjoy the stupid book and ignore Vegeta's attempts at starting a fight. The Prince lopped off a training drone's head.

Vegeta decided he hated Gohan and told himself that it was disgust, not fear, that held him back from engaging his rival's legacy in an honorable duel.

A few hours later, Gohan left in a uniform that made Kakkarot appear halfway intelligent by comparison.

\---

The farmer delivered Goten back to Chi Chi along with a dozen dinosaur eggs- three of them broken and running down her son's shirt and hair.

"Dern varmint got into m'coop and spooked the poor gals," the farmer said. "I figgered whatever ya'll did to 'im as punnishment'll be plenty fer the allocatin' of these here aigs to ya t'have fer later, knowin' you, Mrs. Chi Chi."

Chi Chi smiled warmly at the farmer. "Indeed," she said, and invited the farmer in to share all of the dessert she had made to have after tonight's dinner while Goten watched and drooled in the corner.

"The fifty pound sparring match still stands for tomorrow, mister," she said pointedly to her baby as she waved goodbye to their guest.

Goten forgot all about how upset he was when The Great Saiyaman walked through the front door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These next chapters'll be lots of fun and smiles.


	5. Completely Shaken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Girls have cooties.

The hallways of Orange Star High School were decidedly clean, but that did nothing to hide the telltale signs of the building's age. The lockers extended all the way to the floor and opened with combination locks rather than the press of a finger to a Capsule Corporation sensor. It was very retro.

Gohan personally found the soft peach of the walls crossed with the gentle teals and outdated greens of the metal lockers to be a nice touch. However, everyone he knew had spent last week insulting his sense of taste, so he honestly was not qualified to judge how his new Alma Mater stacked up in the aesthetics category.

Still, if the tacky hallway was all Gohan had to look at for the next hour while he stood at attention with two water buckets hanging off of his arms, he sure appreciated that it was something he liked.

Last week, he had been stuck out here for disrupting class. Today, he was stuck out here because The Great Saiyaman had taken a little too long when he bailed out of first period to save the city yesterday.

Gohan wondered what his mother would say if she knew what a troublemaker he was turning into. He came to the conclusion that he was better off not ever finding out.

\---

Sevoya had heard all about the mourning boy's date with Angela before Monday had even arrived. Now that it was Tuesday, she was bound and determined to try and succeed with the same approach the ditzy redhead had.

Everybody knew Angela was a giant flirt who went on dates for the sake of going on dates. The only boys who gave her big puppy dog eyes a second glance were the truly interested and the truly spineless.

Granted, Sevoya had heard that Angela had gone above and beyond her usual tricks and blackmailed their mutual acquaintance into taking her out, but that sounded like total bullshit.

Who on Earth could even find teddy bear boxers bigger than a child's size, anyway?

Basically, only sweet guys actually said yes to Angela. Ergo, the mourning boy was a total pushover. Ergo ergo, Sevoya could coax him out in a position where she could actually talk to the new and mysterious not-stranger and explain why she would be asking about a funeral that happened the day after the Cell Games. The date was just a vehicle for conversation. Besides, going out with boys was not a big deal to Sevoya- she had so much experience with it that even her father no longer felt the need to wait at the door with the shotgun whenever his baby girl was scheduled to go out on a co-ed outing.

(Now, he only waited inside the doorway with their restaurant's biggest knife to greet his daughter's beaus.)

Sevoya saw movement in the hallway outside her classroom and turned to the open doorway to investigate. The mourning boy stood against the wall with two buckets in his hands.

She wracked her brain for a way to get out of class. Stomach cramps and fake vomiting were an option, but then she would be escorted to the nurse rather than make a solo escape. Sevoya could also fake a manic episode and run out of the room screaming, but that would just cause more problems. She noticed that the girl behind her was drinking tomato juice. Sevoya could spill that on herself and pretend she had suddenly started having out-of-control diarrhea of a questionable color, but she liked the dress she was wearing an awful lot and was not sure it could survive the stain.

Suddenly, Sevoya felt like an idiot. Her teacher was male, and he was ancient. She raised her hand and grabbed her purse.

Her teacher paused in his lecture about Schrödinger's cat and wheezed. "What is it, Miss Sevoya?"

Sevoya made sure her smile cracked into a frown in the middle. "I need to use the restroom," she sniffled.

"I am sorry, young lady, but it is not my policy to let you go until the break," the old teacher told her.

"But I am having some... girly issues," Sevoya said, pulling out a floral feminine hygiene product from her purse.

Her decrepit teacher could not get the hint even when he adjusted his glasses and squinted. "I am sorry, Miss Sevoya, but I cannot allow you to go to the bathroom because you regretted your choice to dye your hair purple and want to fix it better in the mirror," he said.

The class winced.

Sevoya almost wished she had gone with the fake vomiting. "If you feel moisture in your underwear but don't go to the bathroom to check, that does NOT mean your period is both happening and not happening!"

The teacher jumped so fast that his thick lenses popped out of their frames. "Oh, OHHHH, I am so sorry, Miss Sevoya- go ahead and--"

She had already started down the aisle to the door. "And my hair is naturally purple, you Cretacious old crouton!"

The class clown chose this moment to throw in his two cents. "Hey, Sev, congrats on not being pregna--" Sevoya cut off the drama with the slam of her classroom door.

Her demeanor changed and she smiled at the bewildered mourning boy standing opposite her. He was not wearing all black this time, but she could tell it was him by the sheen of his hair and eyes.

"Hello," she said sweetly.

\---

Trunks fiddled with his second orange soda of the day. "Mom, do you think Gohan will come back to play today?"

Bulma divided her attention between her son and the robot she was performing open heart surgery on. "I don't know, Trunks, but you shouldn't drink so many of those at one time."

Her son pouted from where he sat on the couch in his mother's lab. "Can I go visit Goten?"

"Ask me that again and I will make you wear a Great Saiyaman costume during your next training session with your father," Bulma said evenly.

Trunks ran outside and did laps around the Briefs Corporation and complex to kill some time.

\---

Sometimes, Piccolo spread his extra sensory passageways across the Earth to read its energy and the overall state of the people. He supposed it was a habit incorporated from Kami.

He sat in the sky, his white cape draped behind him like a waterfall suspended in midair, and handled the precious planet with his heart.

For a moment, he swore he felt a pinprick of malcontent rise from the general throng of energies, but it disappeared the moment it came. Piccolo decided it must have been his imagination.

All seemed well, for now.

\---

Videl Satan thought that Gohan Son was just about the most ingratiating person on the planet.

She had watched him jump twenty feet in the air during baseball practice like some kind of freaky alien god, and it had made her feel totally inferior. Then, she had to watch him blunder his way through ruining a date with Angela, of all people- Angela was the easiest person in the world to go on a date with, or so Videl had heard tell, and felt mortified to even know the stupid boy after she learned the underwear story.

That ingrate. If Videl had not been so sure he was really that obnoxious Boy Scout Saiyaman, she would never even bother to remember his name.

Speaking of, he was repeatedly forgetting to put his family name second when he introduced himself. Videl knew that it was a cultural thing, but the way he constantly mucked up the order and then tried to explain it made her think he was only being pretentious. Poor Erasa had thought the idiot's first name was Son for the first three days she had known him. Sometimes Videl still couldn't keep it straight, either.

But now, Gohan Son (Son Gohan?) had managed to pick up another girl, somehow, and in the span of one class period. It was the girl from class A-2, Sevoya Anillo. Videl did not know her, but she knew about her.

Sevoya was the girl who had lost her mother and little sister back in the beginning of middle school. Her father owned a restaurant on the south side of town.

The only other thing Videl knew about Sevoya was that she dated a lot of boys- not as many as Erasa, but enough.

Videl shot a look at Gohan and bit down on her pencil. He was about to enter the ranks of Sevoya's boy conquests, and he had barely known the girl for an entire school day. 

As Videl walked home, she thought to herself about what a pathetic person her new classmate was. Saiyaman or not, he was embarrassing to behold. A real man would be like her father; he would be a hero and an inspiration, not some ignoramus posing as something he could never hope to become.

Videl had no sooner greeted the family butler at the gate when the communicator around her wrist signaled to her that something was amiss. 

Then, the ground beneath her began to shake violently.

\---

Gohan wove in and out through the hallways of the hotel and hoped that his cape did not light ablaze from the haphazard electrical fires leaping from the crumbling walls. An earthquake had struck not long after The Great Saiyaman had begun his disguised rounds through Satan City, and this particular area suffered the most severely from it.

Gohan had already evacuated the people from the nearby shops and restaurants and thought the danger over, but a second tremor had forced him to enter the hotel a few blocks away and start combing the unstable halls for people before the building collapsed.

The business and tourist districts of most modern cities were built to withstand the effects of seismic tremors despite their height, but this hotel was the exception. The historic brick structure was not as up to code as its steel neighbors, and the trembling earth beneath it wanted to bring it down for good.

Gohan swept the hall for any life energy and zoomed to the next floor up when he discovered nothing.

He encountered three sets of double doors leading from the landing of the top floor. Several ki signals blinked at him from behind the far right ones. Gohan wrenched those doors open and discovered a terrified party of men, women, and animals in formal dress cowering beneath the folds of the pressed white linens covering their round dinner tables.

Something smelled delicious.

Gohan ignored his stomach and gave the people a confident wave and a smile. "Hello, citizens! I would appreciate it if you all, uh," The floor fell a few inches beneath them as the supports began to give. The people screamed while Gohan tried to remain calm. "Everybody sit yourselves on the top of these first three tables and please hang on tight!" He finished, shooting a beam through the grand window at the opposite end of the ballroom. The partygoers stopped their shrieking to stare at their would-be hero.

Gohan frowned at the endangered throng blinking dumbly at him from the other side of his black visor. "Please? We don't have time for you to tell me I look funny, okay?"

Thankfully, they all climbed on top of their tables and Gohan grabbed the first to fill by its bottom center. He lifted it level above his head and flew out the broken window and into an open lot a few blocks away. After reassuring himself that the surrounding buildings were not going to fall on his newly saved charges, Gohan set the table down gently and dashed off to grab the next two.

The hotel's top floor was decidedly uneven when Gohan grabbed the next two tabletops by their rounded edges and lifted them into the sky. A part of him wondered if the tables themselves were strong enough to support the weight of the lives piled upon them, but he decided not to worry about it when the impromptu wooden lifeboats did little more than creak once they were out in the open air.

When he delivered this second cargo of people to the empty lot, an old sow dressed in black pants and a white apron held out her arms to claim Gohan's attention. "One of the other caterers is still up there, Saiyaman!" She exclaimed.

Gohan sent his energy out in search of life and discovered that she was telling the truth.

He tore into the sky and smashed into the ruined hotel as it slowly melted to rubble.

Gohan could not see anything inside the mess of dust and darkness, but he did not need to- he could find his target by using their life energy as a beacon. He strode towards the last lost citizen and knelt down to pick them up from where they lay curled up on the ground.

The dust settled and his vision adjusted. The green eyes of the girl from this morning stared back at him. He couldn't remember her name.

Gohan reached out to pick her up and take her to safety, but she shrieked when he got close and slapped him away.

"Please- I am trying to get you out of here!" Gohan begged.

The girl searched the dust for anything that looked remotely human or familiar. All she found was Saiyaman's strange orange and black helmet looming ever closer. She screamed and fought when the stranger put his arms around her, but relented when she learned that he was going to force her out of danger no matter how much she resisted.

Gohan held her tighter to himself as he turned and charged the wall with his shoulder. The girl started struggling again once she realized they were hurtling towards an unrelenting mass of bricks.

"No, no, no, NO--!" The green-eyed girl panicked. The sound of shattering clay and mortar cut her off.

Once they were in the fresh air, Gohan watched the girl inhale brick dust and decided he could have handled the situation a little more delicately. He slowly floated away from the crumbling building and let his schoolmate regain her bearings.

She sat up with a start when what was left of the hotel finished its progression of self-destruction by generating one final, decisive thud. Then, she made the mistake of looking all twelve stories down below her.

Gohan winced as the girl shrieked again and gripped his chest through his superhero costume.

"It's okay," he tried to assure her. "You won't fall. I promise. I am really sorry I scared you so much," Gohan told the girl, still wracking his brain for her name. He began a slow and gentle descent.

"Hhhhaaaaaa," the girl's voice darted left and right and her green eyes were speechless.

Gohan stopped moving and kept them both suspended where they were. She calmed down a little. "Okay, we won't move yet," he decided, eyeing the gathering media and crowd of onlookers below. Videl's venomous stare unnerved him in particular. "We'll just stay right here for a minute. Okay?"

The girl stared at him, stupefied. Then her lips started moving and Gohan realized she was in shock and could not speak.

"It's okay," he tried. "I am sorry- I am so, so, sorry I scared you. You don't have to say anything. It's okay."

The girl tried again to force more than air out of her mouth and failed. She gripped at the Saiyaman tunic in frustration.

"Don't worry," Gohan said, moving one hand to gently loose her grip on his chest.

The girl's expressive face screwed into a frown as she shook her head from side to side and wrapped her fingers around the hand he had offered her.

Gohan started to rub her back. "Shh, it's going to be okay. Really. Just relax and tru--"

\---

Trunks stopped running laps and gaped at the Capsule Corporation's outdoor Jumbotron as it broadcast the newest development on the Satan City earthquake.

The Great Saiyaman was kissing some purple-haired girl on live television.

Ew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sevoya is a play on "cebolla", as in the Spanish word for onion, and "anillo" means "ring". Her name is literally "Onion Ring" at face value.
> 
> I figured it would be a nice touch considering that "Videl", while meant to be a rearranged "deVil", sounds an awful lot like "Vidalia (onion)".
> 
> Original characters are normally something I shy away from as a reader, so any feedback you have on liking or hating her would be appreciated.


	6. Frequently Asked Questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Goten defends his brother's honor.

Erasa giggled flirtatiously at her newest friend.

"Isn't this romantic? She said, holding up the magazine she had been reading from behind the cover of the math textbook. Saiyaman floated on the cover with Sevoya Anillo in his arms. Their free hands were intertwined and their faces were pressed together. 

Erasa giggled as she watched Gohan try not to look as embarrassed as the superhero in the picture. "You're really bashful, aren'tcha?" She winked.

"Well, I'm," Gohan stuttered. "Yes," he answered spectacularly.

Erasa heard her friends Videl and Sharpner scoff from behind her. She paid them no mind. "Aw, c'mon, Son Gohan, Wouldn't you just love to have some mysterious hero swoop down and save you, and then share a romantic kiss with them in the sky?"

"Uh," Gohan thought of Piccolo and realized he had a lot more experience with this kind of situation than he previously realized, minus the romantic kisses. "No?"

Sharpner laughed so loudly that he got all four of them sent to the hallway to carry water buckets.

\---

The book of photographs Gohan had lent Dende featured an image of cherry blossom trees sprawled across a field somewhere in the rural east. The flowered branches spread their pink-white petals across the glossy pages like the layers of a human woman's silken skirt from a fairy tale. Dende was enchanted.

They reminded him of the stories of his home's agisa trees and his people's mission to replenish their numbers. Dende had never seen any of the agisa trees bloom, but he imagined that they would have greatly resembled the Earthen flora in the picture.

Suddenly, Dende realized that, for all his time on earth, had never seen a cherry blossom tree in bloom firsthand, either.

The Guardian closed the book and decided to look out at the planet in his mind's eye for the fields of blooming trees. It was April; surely he could find some if he focused.

"A flower is always prettier in person," Mister Popo said, kneeling next to Dende to water the beds of vinca nestled within the white tiles of the Lookout.

Dende quietly nodded and looked back at the book Gohan had left with him. Perhaps it would be beneficial for Dende to walk the earth he loved rather than stare down at it from on high.

In fact, the little Guardian and Piccolo had both occasionally been picking up the inklings of a disturbance in the planet, but such fleeting moments had thus far been only enough to perplex and vex them rather bring any conclusions. Witnessing the state of the peaceful Earth firsthand might put Dende's secret fear of enduring another planetary catastrophe to rest.

He thought about asking Piccolo to escort him, but he knew his fellow Namekian did not care to put his meditations on hold for very long.

"Mister Popo, would it inconvenience you terribly if I asked Gohan to take me to the surface one day soon?" Dende asked.

The genie only smiled.

\---

The forests of northeastern Mount Paozu held their side of the mountain proudly and valiantly despite the two little boys shamelessly writing their names in urine beneath them.

Goten finished first and readjusted his pants. "I win!" he said.

Trunks scowled and sent a watery line through the center of the "heaven" character of his best friend's name before he also made himself presentable.

"Now my name is just Son Go-something," Goten mused, undeterred.

"Better than Son Gohan," Trunks muttered.

"What's wrong with my big brother's name?"

Trunks walked over to the nearest ancient pine and leaned against it. "It's not about what's wrong with his name so much as what's wrong with him." Trunks tossed his hair to the side. "He's weak and has no sense of pride."

"What! No way!" Goten's little hands gripped into fists. "My brother's plenty strong! Really strong! He's stronger than both of us!"

"Yeah, but we're seven and eight years old. He's just bigger, and that's the only reason he is stronger. My dad said so."

Goten stomped his foot. "What would your dad know about my brother?"

At that, Trunks laughed in homage to Vegeta and grinned. "A lot, prolly, since he has known him since he was younger than we are. We saw Gohan dressed in that stupid getup my mom made and kissing some girl on television, and dad said he had always been weak and soft. And that he had no pride."

"What! Gohan wouldn't kiss a yucky girl!" Goten stuck his tongue out. "And The Great Saiyaman is cool and strong! Your dad is just jealous!"

"Nuh-uh."

"Yeah-huh!"

Trunks walked over to Goten and towered above him. "I'll bet my dad could beat him up."

Goten stood on his tiptoes and pressed his forehead against Trunks's. "Why should my brother have to deal with your smelly old dad?" He challenged. "He's old! And smelly," Goten added.

Trunks moved his head away and rolled his eyes. "Who else is my dad s'posed to fight? You don't have a dad. All you've got is stupid Gohan."

"Gohan isn't stupid!"

"Oh yeah? Well, my dad said that the reason your dad is dead is because of Gohan." Trunks left out the part where his mother had stood up and slapped Vegeta in the middle of dinner for saying such a thing.

Goten shook his head, hard. "You're lying!"

"Am not!"

"Are too!"

"My dad said it was true. He said he saw it happen!"

"My mom said your dad isn't a good role model!" Goten tried.

Trunks sneered at the tears in his younger friend's eyes. "At least my dad is still here and wasn't dumb enough to die because of someone weaker than he is!"

Trembling, Goten swung a punch at Trunks.

\---

"I hope you don't think I'm some kind of floozy or anything," Sevoya said, eyeing the newspaper racks outside the window of the café. Saiyaman's romantic midair encounter stared back from the front page of the folded papers.

Gohan swallowed. "Well, uh." Honestly, he did not know what to think of the whole situation.

Sevoya laughed, her emerald earrings catching the light. "You don't have to sit there and try to be polite about it. Believe me, I've gotten enough crap for it at school that nothing you say could really shake me."

There was a lie somewhere in her words, but Gohan was not quite sure where. "It... certainly was surprising," he tried, looking at his shoes and trying not to turn the color of his superhero alter-ego's cape. "For Saiyaman, I mean."

Sevoya laughed. "I was actually trying to get him to shut up." 

Gohan's eyebrows shot up into his hairline as he looked back up at her.

After flashing Gohan another smile, Sevoya grabbed the straw of her milkshake and swirled it around. "He saw how scared I was from the whole ordeal and was trying to calm me down, but it was just really hard for me to sit there and watch him feel so guilty about saving my life. I mean," she let go of the straw and rested her chin on her hand, "being in an earthquake and then having some mysterious masked guy just APPEAR and snatch you up to send you careening into a brick wall so you can hang out a million feet in the air is a little traumatic, but, like, Saiyaman didn't mean to throw me through the wringer. He was just saving my ass."

Gohan stared at her a moment more before he felt a low chuckle escape his throat and evolve into something more sincere.

"What, you don't believe me?" Sevoya said, sucking on her straw.

Gohan was still laughing in his voice. "No, no, I do, I just never expected that explanation."

"What did you think I was going to say?"

Gohan stopped snickering and frowned. "You know, I don't know. I just know that it was not, well, that." He furrowed his brows together. "What were you doing at the earthquake site, anyway?"

Sevoya smiled again, but this time it looked almost shy. "Ah! I'll answer that only if I get to ask you a question next."

Gohan felt his stomach drop. He had been found out, somehow, surely. It was Angela all over again, except his underwear could not save him now.

"Anyway," Sevoya continued, taking his silence as agreement, "My father owns a restaurant on the south side of town. We were catering an event at the top floor of the hotel, and it was my job to oversee everything was done right while my father kept the actual business open for dinner. When Saiyaman started grabbing tables full of people like plates, I was actually struggling with stacks of real plates falling on me in the top floor's kitchen." Her expression turned a little more mischievous. "Maybe I should see if Saiyaman wants to help out at the restaurant on the weekends so that I don't have to."

Gohan adjusted his collar.

"You know, it's better if you don't button that thing up all the way to the top button," Sevoya told him.

"Oh," he said, looking down and blinking at his button-up shirt. He had not realized he had fastened it all the way- in fact, he had not been the one to button up his shirt at all. Goten had done the buttons up while his big brother had been frantically brushing his teeth. This date had not been on the forefront of Gohan's mind and he had almost slept through it.

Sevoya gestured to her own collarbones. "You usually keep the top one undone, but if you want to go for the sexy badboy thing, you unbutton the first two and roll up your sleeves to your elbows."

Gohan undid the top button and left it at that.

Sevoya laughed. "Well, I don't mean to make things _too_ crazy for you or anything, but I think it is my turn to ask a question!"

Gohan fought the urge to shove his whole head into his shirt and refasten the top button for extra security.

"...So do you want to go and actually eat something substantial? You tore into your piece of cake like a starving man. Don't think I didn't notice."

"Um," he did not know how to tell her that he was so hungry he could eat a Tyrannosaurus rex. Whole. "Is that your question?"

Sevoya stood up and brushed off her skirt. "You don't remember, but we have met before," she said, holding her hand out to him. "And if you are anything like your baby brother was back then, you can do some serious damage at the dinner table."

\---

Goten sat in the corner of his bed and stared forlornly out the window that separated his brother's side of the room from his own. The night sky twinkled back at him.

He heard Gohan enter the house and get an earful from their mother for not telling her where he had been for the past eight hours.

"I thought I had told you that I had that thing in town I had to go to," Goten heard his brother say.

The little boy tuned his family out and lifted up his blankets so he could settle beneath them in a little ball. When Gohan finally came upstairs, Goten sent his head between his knees.

"What's wrong, squirt?" His brother said, uncovering Goten.

The little boy kept still. Gohan picked him up and set him into his lap. Goten noticed that his big brother's sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and that he smelled like a restaurant kitchen.

"Do you want to hear the story about how Bulma and dad first met the Eternal Dragon?" Gohan asked. That was Goten's favorite- he liked hearing about how Oolong was pooping all of the time and Son Goku ran around naked.

Goten shook his head and held his knees tighter. 

"So it's that bad, huh?" Gohan began to rub circles on his baby brother's back and felt the tell-tale texture of gauze pads beneath Goten's pajamas.

Suddenly, the little boy lifted his face to look at his brother. His lip was split and the whole left half of his face was a giant bruise. Tears leaked out both his swollen and good eye. "Gohan, did you kill dad?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was my first opportunity to have a fight scene and I cut it for dramatic effect.
> 
> Oh, the humanity.


	7. Forgiveness and Mercy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Son Gohan is absent from school. Meanwhile, Sevoya and Videl meet.

"So that's her, right?" Videl asked Erasa. The two girls stood in the hallway outside of their target's classroom and spied on her through the window. The only exciting development their joint espionage had uncovered thus far was that Sevoya's earrings were an even brighter green than her eyes and that Erasa really liked her shoes.

"Yup!" The bubbly blonde affirmed. "I mean, I woulda thought that big story and cover photo where she smooched Saiyaman would have been a good enough visual for you, but here she is again, just in case."

Videl chewed on her thumbnail. "What do you know about her?"

Erasa smiled. "Well, she dated a lot of boys and it doesn't make her very popular with the other girls here. They all say she's really loose while most of the boys are mad because she dumped them when they tried to get to second base." Erasa giggled at Videl's skeptical expression. "I've heard some people tell me that the boys she has gone all the way with are the kind who don't brag about that kind of thing. But they don't ever say anything either way, so who knows?"

"Can you tell me something about anything other than her dating history?" Videl's flat tone betrayed her disgust.

Erasa winked. "C'mon, Vi, you don't have to pretend to not be jealous around me. I know why you really want to know who Saiyaman is!"

"Erasa, I don't like Saiyaman. I only want to know if this girl knows who he is, or if she can give me a clue." With that, Videl turned her head so her black pigtails swished off of her shoulders and onto her back.

Videl had denied every crush she had ever had during her lasting friendship with Erasa. Honestly, if she really thought her best friend could not tell when she was lying, then Saiyaman could very well be making romantic advances towards Videl right now and the clueless girl would never know.

Still, Erasa felt obligated to help her friend in any way she could. "So you really are serious about getting in her face? She might not like that too much since everybody in the school has done exactly that ever since she made front page news."

"I've got to know for myself," Videl said, crossing her arms and looking back to Sevoya as the purple-haired girl slammed a book into the face of a boy mocking her with kissing faces and noises.

"Yeah, but Videl, Sevoya has already told everyone who asked her that she doesn't know who our mysterious masked man is."

At that, Videl's blue eyes lit up like the high beams of Sharpener's new car. "Maybe. But I'm the one asking the questions now."

\---

Deep in the southeastern mountains sat a tiny house with a roof the color of plums. A child sent from the stars took both his first step and his first life from within the shadow of its eaves, and then raised his first son right in view of the same familiar pointed roof.

The front double doors of the house opened by the hands of beloved Son Goku's oldest- Son Gohan, but not the one who built them- with a disappointed creak. They ignored the boy as he knelt down in front of the small altar in the back of the house. He put his hands together and closed his eyes while the walls and furniture also shunned him.

Once, something important had sat upon the altar's cushioned crown, but now the pillow's only comfort was a soft, rounded indent where an emptiness rested. The four-starred soul of Son Gohan Senior no longer lived within his old house; its new resting place was supposed to be upon his young namesake's head, but the light sneaking through the open doorway and across the boy's uncovered dark hair revealed that it had again been lost. The winds of Mount Paozu rattled the doors in outrage.

When the elements calmed themselves, Son Goku's son lit a stick of incense and laid it on the burner in front of the empty altar. "I pray to the souls of the departed for guidance and courage," he whispered. "And I pray to God for mercy and forgiveness."

The wind reached past the ghosts in the house and snuffed out the boy's offering without a second thought.

\---

When the lunch bell sounded, Sevoya was already waiting in the hallway outside Videl's classroom. She was trying valiantly to see through the stream of people emerging from the open doorway and vacating seats. Videl stayed put at her own desk and told Erasa and Sharpener to go on and eat without her. Sharpener made a big show of teasing her for being a loner, but Erasa caught sight of Sevoya and led their inflated friend off by his muscular arm.

The two blondes were the last to leave. Sevoya smiled at Erasa as she passed her and walked into the empty classroom, lunch box in one hand and a little blue capsule in the other.

"Gohan's not here today," Videl told her.

Sevoya looked up and found Videl's eyes. "Really? Oh." She looked down at the capsule in her palm. "Crap." She stood there spacing for a minute more before looking back up at Videl. "Do you want some of what I've got here? I am not going to be able to eat all of this by myself. Not even close."

Videl blinked. She had been planning on buying her own lunch from the cafeteria today until Sevoya had appeared and changed Videl's plans from consumption to interrogation. "Sure?" Videl said, suddenly nervous to breach the fact that the two were going to break bread as complete strangers.

Sevoya depressed the top of the capsule and tossed it into the floor in front of the first level of desks. "Hoi!" She called, and the capsule answered with a "Poi" as it sent a poof of smoke into the air. Quickly, Sevoya ran to open the windows and let the smoke out. "I should've done that on the roof," she muttered. "The last thing we need is for the fire alarm to go off."

Videl had no sooner stood up to open the next set of windows at the top of the room when the smoke cleared enough to reveal an entire dinner table absolutely exploding with food.

"Why did you bring so much?!" Videl blurted.

At that, Sevoya shrugged and sat down on the top of the desk across from the appeared feast. "That's how much he ate Saturday, so I figured that's how much he'd eat today."

"What? Gohan did?"

"Yup. What, have you not seen him eat lunch or anything?" Sevoya put her lunchbox on her lap and opened it. The comparative size of her meal versus the one intended for Gohan exacerbated how unbelievable Videl found Sevoya's explanation about the whole thing.

"Normal people don't eat that much in one sitting!" Videl shouted.

Sevoya pulled out a sandwich and bit into it. "Maybe. But that's normal people. This isn't for normal people. It's for Gohan," she said.

"That doesn't make any sense."

"...Look, are you going to eat some of it or not?" Sevoya asked. "That "normal people" thing was supposed to be a joke. Geez."

Videl looked over the table of food. A whole fish, a roast pig, and a stuffed duck stared at her from within a garden of fruits, rice, and vegetables too various for Videl to name. She spotted a turkey in the mix. Its skin glowed golden brown and glittered with grease beneath the classroom's unforgiving fluorescent lights. "Where did you find all of this?" Videl finally managed.

"Leftovers from our restaurant." Sevoya took another bite of her sandwich.

Videl suddenly felt about as intelligent as the fish gaping vacuously back at her from the table. She was supposed to be interrogating Sevoya about important issues, not minutiae that she already knew about. Steeling herself, Videl pulled a chair to the table and sat down. Then, she grabbed a nearby set of silverware and attacked the fish to make it stop ogling her. "So why are you doing all this for Gohan, anyway?"

"I like him." Sevoya pointed to a small glass container on Videl's right. "Try some of that on the fish- that's what I like to do."

"Oh," Videl said, pulling the little receptacle over to her and opening the lid. A white-clear glaze greeted her and she spooned it out over her meal before taking a bite. Lemon. It was good. "Do you do this for all the boys you date?" She added more sauce to her fish and scarfed down a few more bites.

"Not like this, no." Sevoya laughed at the thought. "I only bring food to the ones I like, not just the ones I date. There is a difference."

"There is?" Videl regarded the fish. For a second, she swore it winked at her. She placed a napkin over its head and moved on to the rice.

Sevoya, finished with her sandwich, walked over to the table and moved the fish out of Videl's way. "Don't bite off what you can't chew," she said, producing another fork from within the mountain of food and starting on the fish herself.

Videl blushed and busied herself with the rice and a few vegetables.

The two ate in silence for a few minutes until Videl worked up her courage. "So, um," she began. She could not understand why she was suddenly this nervous about confronting Sevoya Anillo. "Did you happen to know- that is, could you tell who Saiyaman really is?"

Sevoya looked down from her fish and leaned against the table. "You, too? Dang. If I knew I was kissing the most in-demand person of interest in all of Satan City, I'd have let him just babble on while we were up there in the sky."

"What?"

Sevoya tilted the plate so that the fish's head faced Videl. Then, she used the back of her fork to manipulate the animal's lower jaw to mimic her words as she said them. "No, I don't know who Saiyaman is. No, I wasn't trying to find out who Saiyaman is. No, I am not going to go out of my way to try and kiss Saiyaman again. And no, I wasn't paid by the media to kiss him, either." Sevoya stopped making the fish talk for her and resumed eating it. "I know he is your fellow crime fighter or whatever and you like him, but if that's the case, you should just tell him yourself."

Videl almost spat out her rice in defiance. Sevoya held up a hand. 

"But beware of what he might do when you do." Her purple hair and green earrings glinted in good humor. "After I kissed him- and I'm pretty sure you were there, so you probably already know- he was so surprised that he dropped me."

\---

Trunks sat in front of the living room television. His mother had turned on the news and fixed the parental controls so that Trunks could not change the channel. 

His father walked into the room, hair fresh from the shower, and sat on the other end of the couch from his son. "Your mother says you got into a fight with Kakkarrot's younger son and wants me to talk to you about it."

"Yeah," Trunks said, sitting up straighter. "I mean, yes sir."

Vegeta leaned to put his forearms onto his knees. His dark eyes pulled his son in like twin black holes as he waited for Trunks to continue. "Well?"

Trunks fidgeted in his seat. He knew he should apologize to Goten and was ashamed that he let his jealousy influence his decision to hurt his friend.

That is what it was- jealousy, and it was directed at the people of Orange Star City. Gohan was too preoccupied spending time as The Great Saiyaman to come play with Trunks- and why would he want to? Gohan was getting attention and kisses from girls his own age and he got to explore the city all day. Hanging out with a little eight-year-old boy with a big ego could hardly compare to all of that. Trunks chewed on his lip and grabbed his knees. The only reason he had taken his anger out on Goten was because his best friend was younger and easy to manipulate. Trunks was just a bully, and he knew it.

But he dared not let himself cry in front of his father.

"Out with it. Did you win or not?" Vegeta's gruff voice cut through Trunks's inner struggle.

The boy furrowed his eyebrows as best he could with his swollen face and two black eyes. "...No," he finally said, feeling even smaller.

"Hn," Vegeta said. "A pity." Then, he tried to change the channel but was bested by Bulma's parental controls. Vegeta cursed and stood up. "Take comfort in the fact that you will grow stronger when you recover," he told his son as he strode out of the room.

Trunks stayed put, his knees in his hands, and dumbly watched the evening news as The Great Saiyaman stopped a team of armed gunmen from hijacking a plane in Satan City's airport.


	8. Promises, Promises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Piccolo loves his babies.

A light footfall alerted Piccolo to Gohan's touchdown on the Lookout. He was ashamed to say that he had been meditating in the form of an almost-nap and had not noticed the boy's familiar suppressed energy flying in his direction. Piccolo composed himself and exited his lotus position in favor of placing both feet on the ground.

"You look like a fool," Piccolo said of Gohan's green tunic and red cape.

"Hello to you, too, Piccolo." Gohan shook his helmeted head and adjusted his bulging school bag. "I wore your outfits once and didn't say anything about them. Can't you at least keep the same respectful silence for me?"

"No."

Gohan sighed and pressed a button on his watch to make the costume disappear and reveal his normal clothes. "Is this better?"

Piccolo regarded the red pants and black vest. "No."

"Will anything I dress myself in make you happy?"

Piccolo actually considered it. "No," he decided, and thrust his hand out above Gohan's head.

Before the boy could stop him, Piccolo changed his everyday clothes into a beige traditional loose summer jacket with white cords arranged like a ladder across the front to hold it shut. The cuffs and inner lining matched the cords, as did his new pants. "You dress me like my mother," Gohan mused, lightly tapping the ends of his ocean-colored slippers against the ground.

Piccolo stuck out his other hand and added a deep blue sash tied together in a bow to the side. In the center of its loops sat a brooch painted with the character for Son. "Don't sass me or I'll emblazon your face with your family name next."

Dende approached from the pavilion behind them. "How exciting!" He said. "I did not realize you were in such a wonderful mood, Piccolo."

"Harrumph!"

Gohan turned to look at Dende. "Maybe he'll give you something new to wear if you ask nicely."

"Is there something wrong with what I have on?" Dende asked, examining his normal clothing.

"Huh? Oh, no, I was joking," Gohan assured his friend. "I just wanted to make sure mister fashion designer over there knew he had other models here on the catwalk."

Piccolo stuck out a green finger and created a clown nose for Gohan's face. It bore the Son character on the tip.

"Hey!"

Satisfied, Piccolo went back to his meditative position in the middle of the open sky. His eyes closed, but he still kept a watchful ear on the children standing on the pavilion. A soft honk floated in the air as Gohan chuckled and took off the fake nose.

"What brings you here, Gohan?" Dende asked. The Guardian's wooden staff made a soft grinding against the tile as its owner absently fiddled with it.

"Well, I did not have the greatest day today, and that has something to do with it, but mostly I came to give you this." Gohan's overstuffed bag, which Piccolo had kindly left unchanged, rustled as the boy surely produced a new book from within and held it out to Dende. It sounded heavy and thick. The cover was hard and the pages, while old, slid past each other with a stiff crack that told Piccolo that the only person who had ever opened and read it was most likely Gohan himself.

"Wow! Thank you! What is this one about?" Dende's cotton robe shifted as his fibrous muscles contracted under the weight of the delivery.

Gohan's heart beat steadily in his chest. It was a good sound. "The history of the southeast."

"Oh! Where you live. But why is this one so much bigger than the others? Piccolo listened as Dende's thick skin and thin clothes collided into Gohan's new, soft linens. Gohan's arm barely mentioned the weight of the book as he took it back from Dende and steadied his friend with his other arm. "I guess it was heavier than I expected," Dende said.

A soft, abrasive grinding announced that Gohan was scratching his forehead. "It is a little overkill, in my opinion." He chuckled. "Well, see, my grandfather was a warlord and took over much of the area written about in there. And what he didn't own, he had business with. At least, he did when his empire was at its peak." Gohan's hair slid against his fingers as he ran them through it.

"A warlord? Your family?" Dende's entire body cried in disbelief. His antennae conjured a telepathic image of Frieza. Piccolo picked it up and sent back an image of a young Gohan wearing a Dragon Ball on his head.

Gohan's heart rate sped up. "Well, my mom's, yes. And, you know, the Saiyans were pretty similar, so my dad too, kind of. I guess." Tapping fingers beat a rhythm against the book's cover. "Anyway, this volume is a record that Grandpa Ox had made of the area. The first part is a history of the lands as they were before his reign, the second part a recount of his conquest and laws, and the third part is a survey of the landscapes. It has a bunch of little sketches in there."

"A warlord," Dende repeated.

Gohan's neck brushed against his collar. His breath was aimed away from Dende, and Piccolo was sure his eyes were, too.

Dende's antennae buzzed with discharged energy as he thrust his wooden staff forward and its base rang out on the tile once more. "But never mind that! I still have your other books to return." Thick, rigid fingers slid around Gohan's smooth hand with the same sound they had since Dende and Gohan were very small. "I wanted to ask you about the cherry blossom trees in that book of photos." Dende's voice faded in volume with each step the two children took, but Piccolo could still listen in easily.

"I thought you would like that one," Gohan said, his steps striking the tile in tandem with his friend's.

"Yes! I did, very much. But I wanted to know," Dende's footfalls halted, "would you take me to see some on the surface?"

"I'd be glad to, but peak bloom was two weeks ago. I don't think there are any more for this year."

"...I see."

Gohan's spine snapped itself into a straighter position. "Wait! That might not be true- colder places have later bloom times. My area is done, but there should be some north of East City."

"Really?" Dende radiated positive energy. Piccolo felt himself smile from it. But only a little, he told himself. He was too focused on his meditations to be swayed by Dende's infectious good vibes.

"Well, logically, yes. I will double check, but I think I can find a place to take you on Saturday when I don't have school," Gohan said. "I promise!"

"That would be wonderful!" Piccolo heard the petals of Mister Popo's vinca spread wider in tandem with the fibers in Dende's arms as the Guardian stretched them into the air and sent his glad energy around himself. "Oh, but listen to me," he said, tinting his glow with sympathy, "I've completely ignored that you had a poor day today. Tell me, what is wrong?"

Gohan's hair rustled as he shook his head. "Never mind that. I brought another one of those coffee table books- the ones with the pictures," he clarified. "This one is all about caves and rock formations. Why don't we look at it together?"

\---

Tuesday morning rolled around lazily and Videl fared little better. The chaos from the airport fiasco Saiyaman had quelled quickly rose up again after the superhero had gone up, up and away, so Videl and the local police had spent the next ten hours redirecting airport traffic and inspecting planes. A piece of her was furious with Saiyaman for leaving before the airport was deemed completely safe, but a larger part reminded her that there was realistically nothing more the city's caped crusader could have done without proper training.

Videl asserted to herself that Saiyaman looked like a jackass in his costume and left it at that.

When Videl finally managed to get up and drag herself to school, she walked into second period about ten minutes late. She was very thankful when the teacher did not comment.

She scooted by Gohan Son and Erasa and plopped into her seat. Erasa and Sharpener passed her their notes from the class prior while Son Gohan gaped at her with a tad more concern and a smidge less idiocy than usual.

His clothes were a different story altogether, but Videl did not have the energy to judge him for them.

Son Gohan's unorthodox dress made Videl recall yesterday's unorthodox meal. "Sevoya brought lunch for you yesterday and probably today," she whispered to Gohan Son, planting her elbows into the desk and rubbing her face with her hands.

Then, Videl's communicator sounded and she did not have the patience or grace to withhold her groan of frustration before rushing out the door again.

\---

Goten slumped against the doorway of his great grandfather's tiny house. The days were growing warmer as they journeyed ever closer to summer and the shade generated by the purple roof was the ideal size for a little boy like himself.

Gohan had not come home last night, and Chi Chi was alternating between overturning the furniture and cleaning it up again to assuage her nerves. Both she and Goten knew that almost nothing could have possibly happened to endanger Gohan's life, but it irked the matriarchal Son to not know where her child was.

Goten thought about Gohan's shadowed face from the night before and knew why his brother had not come home. Maybe he would never come home. Maybe Gohan hated Goten for asking such a cruel question and never wanted to see him again. Maybe, maybe.

\---

Gohan flicked a piece of his eraser through the classroom door Videl had carelessly left open and at the fire alarm in the hallway. It connected and his class did not miss the false emergency's opportunity to panic and cause chaos in place of listening to the day's lecture.

Gohan gratefully used the cover of the screaming throng to open the window and fly out of it undetected. He pressed the Saiyaman button on his watch and headed for the roof.

Videl had just started her jet copter when he landed in front of her. "Hold on just a moment, Miss Videl!" Gohan strained to use his best superhero voice.

The bags under her blue eyes tempered her glare. "I'm trying to stop a bank robbery. What do you need?"

"I don't know about you, but I think it sounds like your school is in more pressing danger right now!"

Videl looked back at the door to the top floor and finally noticed the incessant siren blaring out of it. "Why now?" She said, putting her face in her hands.

Gohan seized his chance and posed. "What if I took care of the bank robbery and you stayed here and ensured your classmates made it to safety?" She looked to exhausted to properly deal with the stress of a large scale hostile situation.

She looked back at him so long that Gohan thought she had not heard him, but the pregnant pause finally birthed her decision. "Fine. But if you screw this up, I promise I'll find you and beat you up so badly that your little tunic and booties'll be the color of your cape."

Gohan winced. "Wonderful! Now, if you'll excuse me, which bank is it? The one on the east side or the one on the west side?"

"Ugh!" Videl answered.

\---

Sharpener bit his lip to keep from laughing as Videl unenthusiastically sussed out that Orange Star High School was not on fire and made the student body return to their seats. In fact, Videl was so drained that she did not even chase after the kids who made a break for home once they exited the front doors.

"Stupid pranksters," Videl grumbled as the room cleared out again for lunch. She let her head fall into her desk.

"Are you coming to lunch today, Videl?" Sharpener leaned back in his desk and examined the nape of his friend's neck beneath her uneven pigtails.

"I'll get there. You go on ahead with Erasa."

"Erasa didn't come back after the fire alarm went off," Sharpener snickered. "In fact, neither did Gohan. Most of our class didn't."

Videl sat up like someone slid an ice cube down her shirt. "Could they be Saiyaman?" She blurted.

Sharpener chuckled. "All of them? At once? Absolutely. Brilliant deduction, Sherlock."

Videl grumbled and sank back to the top of her desk. "I'm so tiiiired," she whined. "I don't even have the energy to think about who Saiyaman is right now, so don't tease me."

Suddenly, a third voice cut through the empty room. "Rough day?" A pink pair of chic shoes clicked on the classroom floor. Sevoya Anillo smiled above them.

Sharpener quietly eyed the scrap of paper left on Gohan's desk and then settled a critical leer towards the newcomer.

Videl barely moved. "Son Gohan bailed," she said.

"Shit!" Sevoya said. Then, she looked back up at Videl. "You know his first name is Gohan, right?"

"I don't caaaare," Videl muttered.

Sevoya held up a blue capsule. "Whatever. Do either of you want some of this?" 

Sharpener held a plastic smile and let Videl answer. 

"Sure."

Sevoya made a move to throw the capsule, but wisely stopped and scurried over to the windows. "Wow. One of these is already open," she said. "I didn't know they let us breathe fresh air in here. It might be too distracting or something." She let the little blue device collide with the ground and leave an overflowing dinner table where it landed.

Videl uprooted herself and headed for the food.

Sevoya looked at Sharpener and gestured with her head towards the table. "You can have some, too, if you want."

Sharpener's eyes narrowed. "Thanks, but no thanks. I don't like sharing with too many people. I'm scared I might catch something."

"Ugh, don't start. This is restaurant food, Sharpener," Videl said. "It's totally fine. And it's really good- I had some yesterday."

"There's no telling who else might have since then, too," Sharpener tut-tutted.

"Sharpener!" Videl hissed at him. He ignored her.

Sevoya smiled with her incisors. "You really shouldn't be so quick to judge until you've tried it."

"Oh, I'm sure it's nice, but I don't think I will. A little bit of self-control is a good thing," Sharpener's tone remained airy, but Videl could feel the atmosphere change. The dark-haired girl stood on the stairs between her buffed friend's empty desk and Sevoya's loaded table, unsure of who to make shut up first.

"Not all of us can survive on wishes and machismo," Sevoya said, crossing her arms.

Sharpener tossed his hair. "But I can at least keep promises."

"I think you'll find I can, too," Sevoya said. "And I promise you'd sing a different tune if you tried the fish." She tapped on the table.

Videl, exasperated, looked around in search of something to stop the conflict. The folded paper on Gohan's desk called to her like a mother to a lost child. "Knock it off and listen to me! Gohan left something here!" She snatched it up and read it. "It's for you," she told Sevoya.

Sevoya abandoned her staring contest with Sharpener and claimed the paper from Videl. "Ah," she said to the message inside.

Sharpener was curious despite himself. "What did your newest little snack have to say for himself?"

"Sharpener, I'm too tired to keep dealing with your crap right now, okay? If you don't lay off, you and my fist are going to have a little chat." Videl crossed her arms. Sharpener looked away.

"Videl or Erasa- Please tell Sevoya," the latter girl read, "that I really appreciate her bringing lunch for me and I am very sorry that I was unavailable to partake--"

"What kind of douche uses the word "partake"?" Sharpener interjected. Vide punched him in the arm.

"Ow!"

Sevoya picked back up where she left off. "--To partake of it with her. I promise that I will try to make it up to her somehow."

\---

The evening sun lolled over Mount Paozu and waited for the horizon to cover it like a drowsy eyelid.

Gohan landed in front of his house and went to his front door.

Goten threw it open from the other side and wrapped his arms around his brother's legs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> High School Hell is taking forever to get through, but it is very important.
> 
> Also, since there is no "China", "Japan", or what have you in the Dragon World, it shoots me in the foot for how I can describe certain things. Thus, Gohan's "traditional" outfit is basically a kung-fu suit with a sash (but "kung-fu suit with a sash" sounds silly to say in context of the chapter.) I love clothes, so whenever possible, I will be taking Serious Advantage of Piccolo's clothes beam and other wardrobe shenanigans. If anybody has any awesome clothes requests for anybody, make 'em- I can't say that I WILL use them for sure, but I might if I like them!


	9. Mother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chi Chi can be a tempest. But she is also their rock.

"Several strings of isolated earthquakes have been reported all over the world in the past month, and they have all progressively increased in intensity since the initial Satan City quake that brought down the historic luxury hotel..."

Trunks yawned. His mother still refused to remove the parental controls and so when he wasn't holed up in the gravity room with his father, he was stuck with ZTV blaring all day, every day. He decided that when he inherited Capsule Corp, his first order of business would be to create a news channel that only featured interesting stories rather than the boring drivel today's reporters fed to their viewers.

A commercial advertising diapers for adults came on. "I'll bet my dad had to wear those when his lower body was shattered from training and he couldn't make it to the restroom by himself that one time," he said to the empty seat next to him. "And mom probably had to change him." Trunks's immature giggles rang hollow off the walls of the empty living room and died.

He wished Goten were there to keep them alive.

\---

The Lucky Egg marked where the commercialized area of Satan City began and where the residential ended. Sevoya was decently sure that it had been an apartment building before her father had renovated the place, but she had never cared enough to ask.

She walked into the kitchen through the back door and smiled at her father and the sous chef Earl.

"Did you and your friends enjoy lunch?" Her father asked.

"Yeah, Papa. Thank you," she said, pulling out the storage capsule and leaving it in a little box with its brethren. "I already emptied the leftovers out so just the table and dishes are left in there. I'll get them out and clean them after we close."

Her father nodded. "You know, you can bring your friends home if you like." His eyes darkened. "Unless they are boys. Are they boys?"

Sevoya considered the whole truth, but decided an almost-truth would be better. "Videl and Erasa are girls." Videl and Erasa were also not quite Sevoya's friends. Of course, neither were Gohan or that one buff asshole with the blonde hair.

"Sevoya," her father warned.

"They are!"

Earl snickered over the sauce he was stirring.

Sevoya's father turned his broad face away from her and smacked Earl on his back with a thick hand. "Don't just stand there grinning like an idiot! Check on the soup!"

"That's a minestrone! I'm a carnivore, Hass. I don't do too well with vegetable bases." the young lion adjusted the bun he'd pulled his mane into and straightened his hairnet over it.

"Then go make more beef broth! Geez! Do I have to do everything?"

"If by "everything", you mean "a whole lotta nothin'", then I guess so, boss!" Earl shot back.

Sevoya left her father and his favorite employee to their day job and zipped up the stairs in the back to her family's living area.

Once she made it to the living room couch, she flopped down and grabbed the remote before pointing it at the tiny television in front of her. Then, she assaulted the power button.

The stupid battery was dead. "Awesome," she said. Idly, she let her eyes travel over the photographs cramped together on the wall behind the television- her father Hass, back when he was forty pounds thinner, proudly standing in front of The Lucky Egg at its grand opening, a wedding photo, Sevoya as a newborn, her little sister as a baby eating watermelon, the extended family, a framed pamphlet and ticket stub from the movie Sevoya's parents saw on their first date, Sevoya, her sister, and Hass in matching Halloween costumes, Sevoya's mother in her favorite dress, Sevoya's eleventh birthday party with her family... the rows of outdated gold frames all held more of the same, but without Sevoya's mother or sister as the images grew more recent. The only exception was the picture squeezed in the corner beneath Sevoya's most recent yearbook snapshot. It was her father's prized autographed photo of the Anonymous Female Fighter from the Twenty-Third Annual World Martial Arts tournament, fierce and poised, and with her foot aimed squarely at the face of another contestant with the messiest hair Sevoya had ever seen.

"She's the most beautiful woman to ever exist, besides your mother," her dad would say.

Sevoya looked from her dad's fantasy crush to her mother's portrait. They were not alike in any way. The Anonymous woman gave the impression that a tornado stripping a village down to its foundations sends to an incoming airplane while Sevoya's mother sat politely, smiling, and as docile and fragile as the day she left this world.

Sevoya escaped from her mother's immortal gaze for fear that she would rub off on her daughter.

\---

Gohan arrived home well before the curfew his mother had saddled him with as punishment for failing to come home on Sunday or Monday. He stepped into the kitchen and tossed the tiny blue capsule his family used for groceries onto the ground. When the yellow and pink smoke cleared away, he began to put away the contents of the bags left in their wake. "Hi, mom! I had some time so I picked up a few things from the store," he called.

Chi Chi emerged from her bedroom and crossed her arms. "Thank you, Gohan." She smiled sweetly. "But I still want you home by five thirty every day."

"Don't I know it," Gohan said, stuffing a bag of rice twice his size into the pantry. "Do you want me to make dinner tonight since I am home so early?" He did not care to inform her that he had abused Orange Star's fire safety system and cut class yesterday. And that he was going out on another date with a girl Chi Chi probably did not approve of. And that he was taking Dende to the surface this weekend. Gohan realized that he had also bruised the apples when packing them into the storage capsule and added that to his list of sins.

Chi Chi leaned against the doorway. "No, thank you. I was planning on making dumplings tonight and you never manage to make those come out quite right when you try. Besides, I should be rewarding you! I snuck into your book bag last night and saw the results of your first quizzes. Perfect scores!"

"Oh, uh, well, you know." She was not aware that he had failed to complete a different test when he missed school on Monday.

Gohan decided he was a horrible disappointment and sent himself to his room the moment he finished stocking the kitchen. He slumped onto his bed and pulled out his modern history textbook. The thought of reading about the Red Ribbon Army filled him with dread.

Suddenly, a purple dragon stuck its head into the window. "Hello, Gohan!" Goten's face squeezed in next to it.

"Oh. Icarus," Gohan said. "And Goten. Hey."

Goten scooted his entire body past Icarus and into the window. "You don't sound very happy to see us. Are you still mad at me for asking about dad?"

Gohan closed his textbook and pulled himself up. His body felt heavy. "No. And I was never mad at you." He stroked Icarus' head and the dragon purred. "I am sorry that you thought I was. I should have just talked to you instead of moping around about it and leaving. The person I am mad at is myself."

"I really don't think you killed him," Goten babbled, shaken. "It was because Trunks said that his dad said that you did that I asked, but I should have never believed Trunks because he was just trying to make me mad because he likes to do that sometimes, and--" 

Gohan knelt down and cut off his little brother's tirade. "It's okay. How about you and I go talk about it in Great Grandpa's little house?" He looked up at the purple dragon peeking in the window. "We'll grab a snack for Icarus to take back to his forest with him, too."

\---

Dende sat cross-legged in midair next to Piccolo, but instead of focusing on his inner life energy like his mentor, the Guardian's attention rested on the pages of a giant tome in his lap.

Only Piccolo's mouth betrayed that he was not a statue planted in the sky. "Does it bother you to know that Gohan's human lineage was bloodthirsty as well?"

Dende spilled his memory of Gohan, screaming, six, and slamming his foot into Dodoria's head. It lingered in his mind's eye for Piccolo to see. "It should not. It was obvious from the beginning."

"I asked you if it did, not if it should."

"I am unfit to be the Guardian of this planet if I cannot accept it," Dende said, slowly turning the page of Gohan's history book.

"That is not an answer."

"It troubles me," Dende admitted. "It troubles me to know that rage and hatred and war can exist in someone who is pure of heart."

Piccolo kept his eyes closed and his posture unchanged. "Do you also know of those things?"

"Yes," said Dende.

"Are you pure of heart?"

"I could not say. I wish to be, but few mortals ever truly know their own heart."

"You are not mortal. You are God." Piccolo breathed deeply. "Learn it."

\---

Gohan sat his brother down on the edge of the bed in Great Grandpa Gohan's house and kneeled at the little boy's side like a repentant sinner to a saint. Goten's wide, dark eyes blinked down at him.

"Goten, before I explain this to you, I need to see how much you already know. So please bear with me. I promise I am going somewhere with this." Gohan squeezed his eyes shut and then braved looking into his brother's familiar face again. "Do you know what dad and I were doing when he died?"

Goten affirmed with a shake of his head. "You were fighting a bad guy."

"Yes. Do you know who he was or why we were fighting him?"

Goten shook his head. "Mom just said he was a bad guy. And you and dad fought him because he was bad and you are good and somebody good had to stop him because he was bad."

Gohan could not tell if the expression on his own face was a grimace or a smile. "But do you know why dad and I were fighting him rather than letting somebody else?"

"No."

"Do you know why Mom makes you practice martial arts while I study?" Gohan tried a different approach.

"No," Goten repeated.

"Do you know why we don't talk to people about how you and me and Trunks and his father can fly and shoot light from our hands?"

"Because most other people can't? I mean, I don't know how to fly yet, but is that it?" Goten tried.

"Yes. But do you know why we can and other people can't?"

Goten frowned. "Um, is it because of that Saiyan thing Trunks's dad always talks about?"

"Yes." Gohan hesitated. "Do you know what a Saiyan is?"

"Not really."

Gohan licked his lips and reached for his brother's tiny hands. "Goten, I want you to know," he collected himself, "that mom and I love you, and Bulma loves you, and Trunks does too even though he said mean things to you. And there are others- I will take you to meet them, soon- but they love you, too, and they will always accept you no matter what. They will always stand by you because they know you are and always will be their friend and their family, and they will help you when you are in trouble or feel lost. You are important to them, and they want you to be happy and safe. I need you to promise me you will remember that. Even if you forget everything else I am about to tell you, please, _please_ remember that. It is what will save you in your darkest hour."

Goten nodded, quiet and slow.

"Okay." The air in the tiny house stood still, like the building itself was holding its breath. Gohan felt like something was constricting around his lungs. "Goten, a long time ago, there was a race of warriors that lived on a planet very, very far from here. They called themselves Saiyans."

Goten stared back. "Like... aliens?" The little boy narrowed his eyes. "Are you playing a trick on me?"

Gohan willed himself to look at his brother, hard, and not start shaking. "Like aliens. Dad was one. Vegeta is one. That is why they can do things like fly and fight bad guys that nobody else can even touch." His hands surrendered and trembled softly. "That is why _we_ can do things like that."

Goten's fingers wrapped around his brother's, tightly.

"Goten, you and I are not totally human."

The doors of the old house dared not creak as the wind gently pushed at them to let it eavesdrop on the two boys's secret. The dying daylight cast dark specters back and forth across the room until the wind finally gave up.

All traces of Son Goku left Goten's face as the little boy turned white as a sheet. He gripped his brother's hands like letting go meant the Earth itself would swallow him up in blackness forever. "Gohan," he whispered, "I am scared."

"I know. But you don't have to be," Gohan said, and wished he had the confidence to make it sound like the truth.

\---

Chi Chi called out the front door for her boys to come eat dinner. They emerged into the kitchen a few minutes later and sat down quietly.

She served the meal and watched as Goten ate his food uncharacteristically slowly and Gohan barely ate anything at all.

"Are you feeling sick?" She asked, looking between the two when they both set their utensils down.

Goten shook his head. "No."

Chi Chi stood and began to gather up the leftovers. Gohan followed and took the dirty plates to the kitchen sink to wash them. Behind them, Goten snagged a washcloth and wiped down the table.

Their mother watched them help her from the corner of her eye. It was not unusual for Gohan to lend a hand, but Goten had to be reminded if he stayed put long enough to do any cleaning.

They were both so quiet. Chi Chi packaged the last of the rice and opened her mouth to ask about it when her oldest suddenly pulled her into a hug. His hands were still wet from the dishes.

Goten, finished with the table, dropped the rag and scurried over to grab his mother's waist with his arms, too.

Chi Chi placed a hand on the back of Goten's head and arm around Gohan's back. Her unspoken questions died in her throat. "I have such good, loving boys," she said instead.

Gohan and Goten held her tighter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Chi Chi. I hope you do, too!
> 
> If you can't tell, I like to switch my point of view whenever it suits me to follow the biases of a particular character. Who is your favorite character to follow? It won't change my narrative style, but it sure would be interesting to know!


	10. Approval

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Parents can be overbearing.

Thursday was Chi Chi's leftovers day. She planned to serve her boys the remains of last night's dinner in addition to the eggs, bacon, rice, oatmeal, sausage, hash browns, toast, muffins, and fruit she normally made for them in the mornings. Yawning, she walked into the kitchen to find Gohan already at the stove.

"I am making an extra lunch," he explained. "But I did feed myself and made some extra for you and Goten." He gestured to the table.

Chi Chi looked it over. His presentation of the food was not as pretty or as neat as she would have made it, but she supposed it was adequate. She took a seat and decided that she should be thankful that she did not have to make it and stop sizing up her son's cooking prowess. Besides, it probably tasted almost as delicious as her versions did on her bad days, and that was what was important.

She grabbed a plate and served herself some eggs. Gohan had forgotten the oatmeal. "Thank you, Gohan, for the wonderful breakfast. What brought this on?" She asked, thinking back to her children's somber affection yesterday night.

Gohan scooped whatever it was he was making in the pan into the lacquered lunch box next to him. "Um," he cast a dark, wary eye to his mother. "A girl in my class made me lunch for the past three days, so I decided that I--"

"What?!"

Gohan winced. "I didn't ask her to do it, she just did! And I can't show up and not do anything in return!"

Chi Chi huffed. "Oh, so just because some girl gave you, what, a light snack, maybe, she can make you bring her lunch and lure you away from the other kids to eat with just her and then when she gets all close, she can swoop in on my innocent little boy and then--"

"Mom, she didn't ask me to make her lunch! And she brought me a ten-course meal, all full entrees! And dessert," he interjected weakly.

"Just because she didn't ask you doesn't mean she isn't manipulating you into becoming her--! Her--!" Chi Chi couldn't bear to say it. She was too intimately familiar with seducing clueless men with food to feign ignorance about how her darling Gohan's scenario was playing out. Worse, her son was more conscientious and attentive than his father ever was, and it made him all the more susceptible to feeling pressured into reciprocating loving acts. Chi Chi suddenly wished her brilliant baby boy was as thick as Son Goku. "...Did you say a ten course meal?"

"Yes."

"For three days?"

"Yes. Four, if you count the day we went out on a-- um, when we went to eat on Saturday."

Chi Chi balked. That was practically a proposal. "No," she moaned.

Gohan finished boxing the lunch and tied it up in a cloth. "But, um, listen, mom." He frowned. "I want to take Goten to meet Piccolo and Dende at the Lookout on Saturday."

"What?! No! Dende is one thing, but I am not letting you take your brother to be corrupted by that green, demonic layabout!" She balled her fists and slammed them on the table. The eggs flew up from her plate and then back down onto it again like an airborne fighter traveling to and from the ground of Papaya Island's tournament ring.

"Mom," Gohan tried.

"I said no! And you need to use your Saturday to study! Why on earth would you suggest such a thing?"

Gohan looked at his shoes. "Goten has been asking about dad and how he died."

Chi Chi felt her hands unclench. "Why Piccolo? Why not Krillin, or Tien Shinhan? Why not Yamcha?"

"I want him to meet them, too. I am going to take him to meet them." Chi Chi could tell from Gohan's stance that he had made up his mind. "But Piccolo first. I want Goten to meet him before he learns who he was."

Chi Chi's back teeth clicked together as she ground them. "You mean what he is."

The look her son gave her was almost defiant. "And what he was, yes."

"Gohan, he killed your father the first time."

"...and I am responsible for his second death. I fail to see your point."

Chi Chi stood. "Don't be ridiculous. Cell killed your father in battle." That is what she had been told when the whole ordeal was over. She did not want the details, and denied them whenever possible. Truthfully, she was not entirely sure how her husband had died.

Gohan grimaced and gathered up his lunch and his school bag. "Please promise me you will consider it." He strode to the front door and left.

Chi Chi kept her eyes on the door, huffed, and then looked down at the food in front of her. 

She left it for Goten and went into the kitchen to make something that she could stomach.

\---

Videl dashed back into her jet copter the moment the bomber was stripped of his explosives and the situation stabilized. It was the second incident of its kind in the past six months, and she took it personally. Some cult worshipped some deity or another that, according to them, is what really saved the world from Cell. Her father and anyone who followed him was therefore a blasphemous demon. Normally, those kinds of nutcases only sprouted up online or in harmless graffiti, but the emergence of these two terrorists cases obviously meant that the group was moving forth into the real world.

"Mister Satan is his name in truth," the bomber had said, "and his daughter is a devil and his worshippers are the wicked and mislead!" 

Videl frowned. The fact that the letters of her first name could be rearranged into "devil" was a coincidence. So was her last name.

She decided to worry about it later and glanced at the time. Eleven fifty. Sevoya was bringing lunch again today and, as odd as it was, Videl had rather enjoyed eating with her and Gohan Son in addition to Erasa and Sharpener the day prior. Perhaps she had been wrong to judge the class floozy and the class geek in the first place.

Videl stepped on the gas. If she was not quick, Gohan would inhale all of the food before she even arrived.

\---

The rays of the sun fell onto the lookout in refracted shapes, like glass beads on an invisible string that dragged over Mister Popo's freshly cleaned tiles and fell over onto the planet below.

Piccolo stood in the center of the Lookout and basked in the light.

"You know, you will get more sun if you take off your turban and cape," Dende said. The Guardian had been standing with Mister Popo in admiration of the latter's populated butterfly garden, but Piccolo's tall figure and serious presence proved too great a distraction from enjoying the sight of the genie's beloved, beautiful creatures.

Piccolo opened his eyes. "This peace makes me soft enough that I have stopped my meditations to engage in something as frivolous as sunbathing. I should not allow myself to shirk all of my dignity and weighted clothing in one fell swoop."

Dende smiled. "Did Kami inflict upon himself such constant strife to achieve his strength?"

Piccolo crossed his arms. "Kami was not a warrior. He was a Guardian."

"Did Nail, then? I certainly do not remember Nail behaving in such a way, and he was a warrior." Dende chuckled.

"Nail's final independence was to lay beaten and broken upon what he had sworn to protect."

"And wasn't Piccolo's to choose convergence in an effort to avoid doing the same, with or without the weighted clothing?"

Piccolo's glare did little to damper Dende's soft, amused expression. "Make your point."

"My point is that sometimes, to get stronger, you should not focus so much on becoming stronger. Take a break. Enjoy the sun while it blesses us from above." Dende directed his face at the sky and closed his eyes.

Piccolo frowned. "Between you and Gohan, I will become a sedentary old Namek, incapable of defending myself or my children."

"I said to take a break, not give up your mantle forever." Dende laughed softly. He knew that Piccolo did not know how to moderate himself. The Nameless Namek either dedicated himself to something completely, or did not bother to do it at all. "Gohan and I will teach you to have fun, one way or another. Humor me. At least take off the turban."

Cornered, Piccolo changed the topic. "How is the planet?" He may as well have been asking about the weather.

Dende decided to let Piccolo escape. "I am sure I have discovered nothing you have not already seen." Dende fiddled with his staff, pensive. "I have not felt those moments of malcontent for the past several days."

"Are you sure that is not because you have been too distracted to notice anything besides your own mood?"

Dende turned from the sun's bright face to Piccolo's stoic one. "Whatever do you mean?"

"You know." Piccolo thought of Gohan, smiling, with a mouthful of little sweets and a cup of tea in his hands.

"Oh, I am very excited to go to the surface and see the trees," Dende said. "Even if I am conflicted about Gohan's family lineage, I love him most of all the people on this planet. Besides, my emotions alone cannot be put above those of the Earth."

"Could've fooled me," Piccolo grunted.

Dende was more concerned than wounded. "Have you learned of something I've overlooked? There have been the small earthquakes across the land, but those alone have not been enough to--"

"Dende, stop." Piccolo sighed. "Do you seriously not see the problem with having a fondness for one human over the rest?"

"Do you not have favorites, also?"

With a flourish, Piccolo tossed his cape to the wind behind him and drew his legs up into his midair lotus position. "Do as I say, not as I do."

Dende, loathe as he was to admit it, was greatly annoyed at his mentor's disapproval and by his attempt to end the conversation by retreating into himself and beneath his cape. "I have been thinking," he said. "I have been thinking about what you said about learning my own heart. I have been thinking about what it is I value and what my desires are, and what it is that I fear. And what I have learned is--"

Piccolo's eyes shot open. "One cannot determine who they are as a person until they have truly been tested and beaten down to see the truth of their very foundations. Conjecture drawn over a day or two is hardly knowledge of yourself!" He quieted himself. "Leave me now, and try again."

Dende bowed and wistfully thought of Nail, standing in a field of freshly tilled soil and laughing as he took Dende by the hand and taught him how to fly.

\---

Gohan changed out of his costume and stumbled into his classroom. Videl, Erasa, and Sevoya looked back at him from a table of food.

"I hear you weren't in class while I was fighting crime and you weren't here when I came back," Videl greeted. "And Saiyaman was still at the scene when I left. Interesting coincidence, huh? What's your convenient explanation this time, Gohan?"

At that, Gohan opened the school bag at his side and pulled out the lunch he had prepared this morning. "I remembered that I needed to return Sevoya's favor of lunch so I went to take care of that!" He had come up with that lie the moment that the terrorist's detonator crumpled beneath Saiyaman's gloved fingers and rehearsed it to himself the whole way back to school. Mentally, he gave himself a pat on the back.

"So where'd you get the lunch from?" Sharpener's voice rang out from his seat at his desk.

"Well, um, you know." Gohan settled on the truth. "I made it."

Sharpener looked doubtful. "Oh yeah? In what kitchen? You live like a million miles away, right?"

Crap. "I know somebody?" Gohan tried.

"Oh, be quiet, Sharpie!" Erasa waved her hand at him. "I think it's so cute that you made a lunch, Gohan!"

Sevoya stood up from the table and approached, slowly. "You made a lunch for me?" She looked from the box wrapped in fabric to Gohan's face, and then back to the box. Her face reminded Gohan of the look she had worn when he had saved her from the collapsing hotel right before he had dropped her.

He smiled and handed it to her. "I didn't think it was fair that you were bringing me one every day and I wasn't really contributing," he said.

Sevoya kept staring at the box. She traced the designs of the little teddy bears on its wrapping with her fingers. "Thank you," she said, finally looking back at him.

Gohan chuckled. "I mean, I don't think one lunch really cuts it when we put things into perspective," he eyed the roast pig sitting behind Videl's head, "but it's a start."

Sevoya walked over to the first row of desks behind the table. She sat on top of them and opened the lunchbox. 

Erasa jumped up from her seat and peered at the box. "Ooh! How exciting! What's in it? What's in it?"

Pork fried rice. It was the only thing Gohan could make consistently and reliably when under pressure, besides stir-fry. Two of his mother's dumplings sat alongside it to make it more interesting. He cast another longing look at the table Sevoya had supplied and felt as if he had woefully underachieved. The sensation was not a new one. 

Maybe he should try making a cake?

Videl ousted him from his mental kitchen. "Gohan! You are being addressed! Listen!" She gestured at Sevoya with a tilt of her head.

"What Videl and Erasa are not eating is for you," she said, her earrings glinting that intimidating color.

Gohan felt Erasa push on him to sit down and eat it. He quickly remembered to pretend that her strength had any effect on him whatsoever and let her guide him to his seat. "Thank you again," Gohan said, fixing a plate. "I'll take you somewhere fun next weekend, if you want, okay?"

\---

The kitchen of The Lucky Egg was always clean, but perpetually messy from the sheer amount of dishes and paraphernalia inside. It doubled as the Anillo family's normal kitchen, so Sevoya surmised that the lived-in clutter was no real surprise. She washed the dishes from the dinner rush and from her lunch capsule in silence.

Earl the lion finished closing and grabbed the last bags of trash. "'Bye, Sev. Good luck with making those new friends," he said, grabbing his jacket and ducking out the back door.

"Thank you for getting the trash," she called back.

The closing door answered her, but it was just as well.

Sevoya had not had any real friends since middle school. Now that she might be making a few, she was not sure what to think about it.

Sharpener thought she was a whore, and Erasa probably did too, but in the most unobtrusive and inconsequential way possible. Actually, Erasa might find some sort of camaraderie in Sevoya since the blonde girl was a confirmed tease while Sevoya was overly vilified by the rumor mill. Sevoya deserved some of it, sure, but not all of it.

The other possibility was that Erasa was trying to get some kind of dirt on her. Prior experience told Sevoya that this was more likely, but Erasa had not seemed like the malicious kind. She was probably just curious.

Videl was funnier. Interacting with her had been almost a game to Sevoya- the goal was to find out how long she could interact with the school celebrity without introducing herself and seeing if Videl even knew who she was. This far, the famous teen hero had been attentive enough to have a handle on Sevoya's name, but the introduction was still yet to happen. Still, Videl was nice, in her way. What Sevoya's father would say about his baby girl striking up a friendship with Hercule Satan's daughter, however, might not be so nice. Oh, well.

That left Gohan. While Sevoya did not hold Videl's conviction that he was Saiyaman, it was clear that he was hiding something. He had been uncomfortably nervous when she had taken him out on Saturday up until she had brought him to The Lucky Egg for a late lunch. He had calmed down a little after that, and even more so after she had nonchalantly made it clear that she would not lance him with questions about his appetite or the apparent peculiarities surrounding his living situation. Gohan was a homeschooled boy, and Sevoya had a feeling that his quirks probably sprang up from his isolation and are what caused him to get all hot under the collar. That, or whatever it was that made him so antsy was the very thing that made him a homeschooled boy in the first place. Some kind of anxiety disorder was a possibility.

Regardless, none of that was something Sevoya was about to judge, nor was it her business. The only thing she really wanted to know, if she could figure out a way to ask it, is why he was the only other person in mourning the day after the Cell Games.

He was so nice. She could not begin to tackle how to approach such a heavy question. Not yet.

And Sevoya had never expected him to make her lunch.

\---

The Son household felt frigid at dinner. Goten's mother refused to look at his brother. The little boy wondered what happened, but got the peculiar feeling that he should not ask.

Gohan, on the other hand, seemed normal. He told Goten all about his day and asked about the baby dinosaurs and monkeys Goten had been keeping an eye on. No mention of yesterday night was made, and Chi Chi answered only in monosyllabic grunts.

Finally, as they finished cleaning up the dishes, their mother spoke. "You can take him," she said to Gohan, and stormed into her room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will Dende mind terribly that Goten is crashing his date with Gohan? Will Goten think Piccolo is a giant piece of asparagus? Find out on the next episode of HEAVY BALL Z!
> 
> (Hahaha thank you to all of my readers and commenters.)


	11. Pesky Little Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Goten punches God in the face.

The Nimbus scooted along through the sky like a sled through fresh snow. Goten stuck his feet out over the front of the golden cloud and looked down at the tiny houses and trees peppering the green land below.

"Are we there yet?" Goten asked his brother.

"If you are that bored, count some more sheep," Gohan told him, his face pressed forward as he flew even with the Nimbus. Gohan had roused Goten awake during the wee hours of the morning to start them both on this uneventful journey, and Goten had initially taken the droll opportunity to finish out his sleep cycle. Now, though, the little boy was fully awake and tired of sitting still with no entertainment. "Who are we going to see, again? He asked.

"Piccolo and Dende," Gohan shouted over the roar of the wind. "They are very good friends of mine."

"And why are we going to see Pick Hollow and al Dente?"

Gohan twisted his face into a lopsided grin and shook his head, his dark hair splaying in all directions from the force of the wind. "Piccolo was my first teacher. He also knew dad when he was a kid. Sort of."

"Is he strong?"

"Yes."

"Did he ever beat dad in a fight?"

Goten sensed Gohan's humor change as his black eyes trained on his little brother. It was not an aggressive look, or even an unfriendly one, but that peculiar stare never failed to put Goten on edge. Something about Gohan would close itself off when he was asked certain questions. It had been that way since the little boy could remember.

The child had thought that, after his brother explained the mysterious circumstances of Son Goku's life and death, those moody gazes would become a thing of the past. So far, Goten had learned that the Son men were aliens, his father made a lot of enemies because he believed in mercy, and that his brother thought that a big monster blowing itself up and taking Son Goku with him was somehow his own fault.

And now Goten's brother wore that expression almost constantly, even when he was hiding it under a smile.

The little boy did not totally understand it, but he decided that he would let Gohan talk about their dad's history as he saw fit and focus only on the topic at hand. Goten made up his mind to ask his big brother to explain the Cell story again later, after he stopped showing that soul-piercing stare.

"He beat dad within an inch of his life," Gohan finally answered. "And then some."

"He must be super strong, then." Gohan nodded. "Can he beat you? Is he stronger than you because he's your teacher? Is he a Saiyan, too?"

Gohan flew above the Nimbus and plopped down onto it behind Goten. "If you are going to ask me so many questions, I'll sit here where I don't have to shout the answers," he said. "No, Piccolo is something called a Namekian, or a Namek. He's green. And he is the most skilled warrior I know. So, in a test of technique, he absolutely could win. In a test of raw, unbridled strength? Not so much."

"Uh-huh." Goten nodded again. "Okay. So why did he teach you but didn't teach me?"

"Well, squirt, mom doesn't exactly like him very much."

Goten flipped around to face his brother and pulled his feet beneath him. The wind forced his unruly hair into his face. "Huh? Why? Because he is green? Or is it because she is mad that he beat dad in a fight?" Goten grabbed his black locks and forced them behind him.

Gohan's enigmatic eyes bore into the little boy. "You could say that."

"Could Pickle Hose beat Trunks's dad?"

Gohan shrugged and looked at the horizon. "In a battle of skill, probably."

"I don't get it! Who is stronger? You said your teacher beat dad, but he can't beat you, but you say you can't win against dad, and dad and Trunks's dad are as strong as each other, but your teacher can't beat Trunks's dad!" Goten slapped his palms onto the Nimbus's golden top while his hair danced in the wind, unbidden.

Gohan, in a rare moment of annoyance, rolled his eyes. "Does it even matter?"

"Yes!"

"You have much to learn, young grasshopper," Gohan muttered, and picked his brother up to turn him around and face forwards.

A thin pillar of red and white cut the sky in front of them into two halves. Goten craned his neck upwards. He could not tell if it ever ended, or if it sliced all of the cosmos above it in twain.

"That's Korin's Tower," Gohan said. The Nimbus tilted dramatically and ascended. Goten tumbled into his brother's stomach. "We are going to the top."

\---

Dende stood in the center of the Lookout and bounced on his toes. He could feel Gohan's energy on the wind along with another, smaller, brasher one. Surely it was Son Goten. Dende never had the opportunity to meet the boy and found himself greatly excited at the prospect. Gohan spoke of him so fondly. Dende felt sure that they would be wonderful friends. He wondered if perhaps Goten would frequent the Lookout in the future to visit with him and train with Piccolo.

The Sons's energies summited the Lookout from behind Dende. "Hello!" The Guardian greeted, turning. "You must be Son Goten. I am--"

"I challenge you to a fight to see if you are as strong as I think Gohan sort of doesn't say that you are!" A startlingly large power erupted along with the decidedly young voice. "Here I come, Pick Your Nose!"

Dende registered a child, hair like ebony and eyes like twin coals, rushing towards him before pain exploded in his jaw and he blacked out.

\---

Sevoya's basement doubled as the break room for the restaurant employees. The nice television and a beat-up old couch were its only permanent residents besides the rows of movies and Tenkaichi Budokai tchotchkes suspended on the wall.

Sevoya never went down there if she could avoid it. She could care less about her father's favorite sport and preferred to use the tiny television in the living room rather than suffocate beneath The Lucky Egg's kitchen like she used to as a little girl.

Unfortunately, her options died out with the living room's channel reception. Sevoya smacked the side of the mini TV and fiddled with its antennae before sitting back down and accepting that the static on the monitor might be permanent this time.

She retreated into her room and planted her face into her comforter. Perhaps she should have tried to entice that jackass Sharpener on a date just so she would not be stuck at her house and saddled with working the lunch shift at the restaurant once it opened.

Sevoya turned to her dresser and saw the cleaned bento box sitting by her mirror. Rows of tiny dinosaurs waved at her from the fabric wrapping. Gohan had brought her this one on Friday. Then, suddenly, he had been pulled from lunch on some kind of personal errand before she could return it to him.

The little stegosaurs and brachiosaurs proposed that dating Sharpener was a horrible idea. The tyrannosaurs seconded the motion.

Would it be too forward to presume that Videl or Erasa might want to hang out with her outside of school? Sevoya supposed she could offer them a free meal to sweeten the deal.

But then, what would they even do once they finished eating? Go to a store? Talk about whatever girls talked to other girls about? Play a board game? Sevoya had no idea. She only knew how to make others approach her, not how to make them stay. Good food usually had something to do with it. That, or...

Sevoya untied the bento box and looked at its empty lacquered compartments. Cookies. She would fill it with cookies.

\---

Piccolo deftly overtook Dende's attacker and sent a blow to the side of his neck with his foot.

The Namek lessened his force just in the nick of time when he registered the familiar Son hairstyle. Goku's youngest still collided with one of Mister Popo's palm trees, but his head was still firmly attached to his body. "Teach your brother some manners," Piccolo growled when Gohan appeared. An unconscious Dende rested in his pale arms.

The older boy ignored Piccolo and zeroed in on the stunned child. "Goten! How could you?! You just punched Dende in the face!"

Son Goten, as Gohan had christened him, made some kind of noise and then stopped trying to explain himself. He let his head balance his body against the trunk of the palm.

Piccolo strode over and picked the boy up by the leg. The child was Son Goku made new and possibly stupider.

"So this is what you were thinking about doing when you asked if Piccolo was strong or not?" Gohan was working double time, cradling and examining Dende's swelling jaw while reaming his brother a new hole in the back in one go. "If you ever ask me- or, God forbid, try to test if someone is stronger than dad like this ever again, I will personally make it clear to your behind that I am the strongest person in your entire universe, no question!"

"Not to worry. God forbids it," Dende silently telegraphed to Piccolo as the Guardian slowly awoke to his swollen face. 

"Dende, I am so sorry," Gohan said.

Mister Popo rushed over to the scene with bandages and ice, but Dende held him off with a raised palm. Then, the Guardian peeled himself away from Gohan and generated a healing glow around his broken head with his two hands.

Piccolo looked at the child he had suspended in the air. Son Goten stared back at him. "Your brother's threats are empty, but mine will not be," Piccolo told the boy. "I am the one Gohan calls Piccolo. Remember that. And if you ever say it wrong again, you won't get the chance to utter another word." He plopped Goten onto the ground and marveled at how small the child was from behind a stalwart glare.

Judging by the look on Goten's face, the boy was thinking more or less the same thing. The little one gaped at Piccolo like a deer caught in the headlights.

"Boo," Piccolo said.

The child leapt to his feet and scurried behind Gohan. "I'm sorry!" He squeaked, peeking out from behind his brother's pants.

"Apologize to Dende, too!" Gohan all but hissed at Goten.

"I am sorry, mister Dandy," Goten managed, still trying to make his purple outfit camouflage with his brother's tan and blue one. "I didn't mean to hurt you so bad!"

Dende tested his reworked jaw with a smile and kneeled down to Goten's level. "It's alright, Goten. I am fine. Just be careful next time, okay?"

Goten's two wary, black eyes studied Dende.

"I am very excited to meet you," the Guardian continued. "Your brother tells me that you love to play in the woods and like catching beetles. There aren't any beetles up here, but Mister Popo takes good care of all the Lookout's butterflies and caterpillars. He might show you if you ask him. Do you want to see?"

Piccolo could see the wheels turning in the child's head. "Are all of the other caterpillars as big as you two?" Goten finally asked.

Piccolo watched, split between amused and offended, as Gohan rounded on his brother. "Goten! Dende and Piccolo are not caterpillars! You know that- I told you! They're from Namek! Did you forget all of your manners or what?!"

Dende, on the other hand, consulted his caretaker. "What do you think, Mister Popo? Will I turn into a butterfly one of these days?"

Mister Popo laughed. "After Piccolo. Maybe."

Piccolo felt himself change color.

Meanwhile, Goten slowly crept closer to Dende. "I want to see the caterpillars."

The Guardian held out his hand and Goten took it. "This is Mister Popo," Dende said, gesturing to the genie. "Why don't you ask him if it is okay for us to go into his garden?"

"Mister Popo, may I see your bugs?"

Mister Popo chuckled and nodded. He and Dende lead Goten to the butterfly garden. 

Piccolo and Gohan were left to their own devices. "You are officially the only Son male to not mistake someone else for me and try to blow a hole in them as a result," Piccolo said.

"I am also the first and only Son who has never even wanted to blow a hole in you for any reason," Gohan pointed out.

"Never?"

"Never."

"Not even as a kid?"

Gohan made a peculiar noise. "If I had really wanted to, you probably wouldn't be here today."

"Hn," Piccolo admitted. He heard Goten pronounce his name as "Pig Of Flow" in the distance. "I can't believe your mother decided to name that little moron "Goten" and leave you with "Gohan"."

"Given that they almost named me Einstein, I think mom and dad picked as well as I could hope for." Gohan shrugged.

"Son Einstein. Terrible." Piccolo shook his head. "So why did you bring him, anyway?"

"I had to explain to him what Saiyans were last week. I decided it would be a good idea for him to learn about Namekians, too, but firsthand." Piccolo could tell that Gohan wanted to leave it at that, but his teacher knew better than to let him.

"So I take it Goten doesn't know about May the Eighth."

"No," Gohan admitted, avoiding Piccolo's stare.

The Nameless Namek frowned. "Gohan, are you ashamed of me?"

Gohan kept his eyes trained on Dende, who had turned to show that he was listening to them from across the Lookout. "The truth is, I barely know about May the Eighth. I barely know about Piccolo Day. I barely know what my father hoped to realistically accomplish by staying dead, and I barely know what or how to tell Goten." 

Piccolo had never been entirely comfortable whenever Gohan wore his more serious expressions as a tiny boy. Now that Gohan was older, their unsettling effect held even more sway over his teacher. 

"What would you say about any of that?" Gohan asked, finally answering Piccolo's even gaze with his own.

"May the Eighth is something I regret, and I mean that with the entirety of my being," the Nameless Namek said. "Creating Piccolo is something I still regret," something like Kami added, "but we are fortunate that the world did not end by his hand and that he survived with us to see this day."

Gohan sighed. "How do I explain to my brother that Piccolo dedicated his life to destroying everything I love and then gave his life for me because I am everything he loved?"

Piccolo crossed his arms. "Kid, let me know when you figure that one out. It might help me understand how to teach Dende that someone can have both God and the Devil inside of them and not constantly be at war with themselves over it."

\---

Goten excitedly looked at the _Illustrated Encyclopedia of Beetles and Other Insects_ that Dende had found stashed away in the back of the Lookout and babbled to the Guardian about his own personal favorite insect catches back on Mount Paozu for almost the entire ride to the cherry blossom fields. When they finally arrived, Gohan raced Goten around the blossom fields a few times and then produced a late picnic lunch of Chi Chi's leftovers from a little blue capsule.

Once Goten had stuffed himself, he promptly set off on his own to search for some of the native beetles he had learned about from Dende's book.

"You're some kind of wizard to have actually gotten Goten to enjoy reading," Gohan said to Dende as they watched the little boy search for knotholes in the gnarled tree trunks.

Dende laughed. "Hardly. It was something he was interested in." The Guardian placed his hands behind his back. "That, and there were pictures on every page so he did not actually have to read very much."

The uneven valley sprawled out in front of them like the gentle, rolling waves of a calm ocean. A fresh carpet of fragile green grass poked out from between the rocks and ashen roots of the trees populating the earth beneath the Tsumisumbri mountain range's faint, distant outline. Everything else was soft flower pink.

"Thank you for bringing me here today," Dende said.

"Of course," Gohan told him. "I am really sorry that I did not warn you that Goten was coming. And that he, well, punched you. In the face."

Dende grinned. "He made quite an impression. Pun intended." The Guardian saw Gohan wince from the corner of his eye. "Don't worry about it. I am glad you brought him along. He's very enthusiastic." Across the field, a large insect buzzed into the air and out of Goten's grasp. The child leapt for it, but missed and fell face-first into the ground.

"Can he not fly?" Dende asked.

"No," Gohan said. "And I don't want to think about the kind of trouble he'd make if he could. Letting him use the Nimbus is already a headache for my mother."

The Guardian thought back to when Gohan and Krillin trailed through the sky and into his life. "How surprising. Were you more of a handful at home when you could fly at that age?"

Gohan playfully shoved Dende with his hip. "When I was his age, I spent all of my free time with you and then sat around with my nose in a book when you weren't around. I did not get the chance to make much mischief."

"Times haven't changed much," Dende mused.

The two of them stood there in silence for a moment and watched as the breeze gently pulled at the cherry blossoms on the branches. Gohan offered Dende his arm and the two walked beneath the ceiling of pink clouds.

"I wonder if New Namek has had its first bloom of agisa," Dende said. "I do not know how big they must grow before they bloom."

Gohan shrugged. "I don't know a lot of things."

"Yes, but you are a normal mortal. That is not so surprising," Dende teased. "It is my job to know everything."

"Everything about Earth, maybe, but I don't think you have to sweat knowing all about New Namek. It isn't your planet anymore." Dende could hear Gohan's teeth clamp down on his cheek as he realized how insensitive he sounded. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

Dende had not minded. "No, you are right."

The two resumed their stroll.

"Do you ever miss it?" Gohan asked. "New Namek, I mean. Or the old one."

In his mind, Dende saw Nail and their Grand Elder Guru bidding farewell to both he and Cargo as they went to live with Moori. "I miss some things, yes. But Namek itself, both new and old, is just a place. I have never found planets in and of themselves to be what are most important to me."

"This from the Guardian of a planet called Earth."

At that, the Guardian released Gohan's arm and encased his large hand with Dende's own two smaller, greener ones. "Earth is not just a place to me," Dende stated more severely than he had intended to. "It represents more than just a planet. It is the sum of all of the lives and hopes of its inhabitants, and all of their potential for good or ill. It is the place you were born, too," he continued, "and where you live and where you are, and it's something so important to you that you would give your life to defend it. All of those things make it incredibly important to me."

The trees around them kept silent and still with Gohan. "And what would you do if I did not defend it?" He finally asked.

Dende blinked. "Well, I'd be dead, for one thing."

Gohan stared at him, and then chuckled wryly. "Never mind," he said.

Dende wished that he was as all-seeing and all-knowing as most Earthlings prayed for their God to be.

Suddenly, the Earth let out a moan from beneath its crust far to the southwest. Dende turned to face it.

"What is it?" Gohan asked.

"There's been another earthquake," the Guardian said. "It's bigger than the others. It sounds like it happened near West City." Dende heard another far-off cry to the north. "And another one in Jingle?" He said, perplexed. "The tremors aren't running along the same fault- they are two different incidents. This one sounds like something is... Trying to make a hole?"

"Do you know what it could be?"

Dende ground his teeth. "No."

"I'll go to Jingle," Gohan said, waving to Goten. "Bulma will make Vegeta take care of the city if something has happened. Dende," he said, looking to the Guardian, "I need a favor of you."

"Anything," Dende said.

"Please take Goten home. If something happens on Mount Paozu, can I ask you to take my mother and brother to safety on the Lookout?"

"Of course," Dende said, "but shouldn't I--"

The cherry blossoms frayed in the wind as Gohan burst into the air without another word.


	12. By Human Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prepare for a blast from the past. Also, Enter: Yamcha!

The rocky foothills of the Tsumisumbri mountain range leveled out and frosted over as Gohan flew further northeast. Soon, all he could see was a constant sea of white covering over the entire earth below. The air grew colder, and quickly.

Gohan threw his senses into the wind around him to search for any signs of life. A wayward forest of evergreens popped up on the horizon and swayed in the wind in greeting, but nothing else captured his attention.

He sneezed. Perhaps flying this far north without any winter clothes was a poor plan. Discovering whether or not some tragedy befell the land would have to take a backseat to Gohan's self preservation. He stuck his arms inside of his tan jacket and tried again to find traces of living energy with his own.

Three o'clock. Multiples. Average strength. Most likely, it was the inhabitants of Jingle Village. Gohan accelerated towards their energy signatures and let the wind wipe the snot from his nose.

Gohan had read about tiny Jingle Village in his geography books, and had heard about it again when his father told him the story about The Red Ribbon Army. It had not made much of an impression on Gohan then, but it was certainly more impressive now that it was the only possibility of warmth for miles. The tiny cluster of domed houses ranged from pink to soft orange to mint green and were all topped with a glittering frosting of snow. Gohan thought whole village looked like a casually misplaced handful of spice drops a giant left behind on its way to somewhere vastly more inviting than the land of eternal winter.

The boy landed and sank down to his knees in snow. Mount Paozu never had anything this deep, except at the very top during the winter months. Honestly, Gohan was tempted to flare his ki and warm himself that way, but he knew it would be a giant waste of energy that he might need later. Also, it would be foolish- the surrounding snow would melt in his outburst's wake and then freeze again into ice all over his body. Enough of the winter white was already soaking into his shoes and pants for Gohan's tastes without the extra energy boost.

Gohan realized he had an audience. A markedly tall and broad man stood by a pile of freshly chopped wood. "What brings you here, flying boy?" The man asked. His uneven, scarred face reminded Gohan of stitched leather.

"Excuse me," Gohan said, sniffling, "but can I borrow or buy some clothes from anywhere around here?"

"Oh, you are cold! I'm sorry," The large man plodded over to Gohan and removed his jacket to swaddle the boy in it. His huge chest was the same abnormal texture as his face, but with fewer scars. "Oh, my. Of course. Come with me," he said, picking up Gohan like he was made of feathers.

"I can walk," Gohan started to say, but then panicked when he felt the familiarly eerie void where the man's life energy should be. Gohan violently pushed himself out of the huge android's grasp and levitated out of his reach. 

"Is your purpose to kill Son Goku, too?" Gohan barked at the android.

The android looked genuinely surprised. "Kill Goku? Never! Goku is my friend! I would rather be blowed up than hurt him." He nodded his big head and reached out his arm to point at a nearby pink house. "Suno will tell you. But why would you ask me that? Are you going to try to make me kill Goku? I won't do it."

"N-no, not at all," Gohan said, bewildered. He narrowed his eyes. "But... Excuse me, but who are you and why do you know Son Goku?"

"I am Android Number Eight, called Eighter. Goku rescued me from the Red Ribbon Army and gived me my name." His slow, childish speech sounded almost formal. "I love Goku and I love this village," he added.

Gohan blinked. "I'm... I am Son Gohan, son of Goku, and trained by Piccolo," he shivered out, wondering if his mentor's name factored into the android's memory banks at all.

Eighter's heavy, hairless brow ridges lifted and his eyes grew wide. "Goku's son? Oh, you must meet Suno!" He said, and grabbed Gohan out of the sky again before the boy could say another word.

\---

Trunks heard his father curse as the artificial gravity in their training room shut off and the lights came on. Secretly, the child was relieved- he was not yet comfortable with seventy times the Earth's gravity and was decently sure a few more minutes beneath its force would have crushed him. But he dare not tell his father that.

His mother walked in, dressed in her favorite dress and a yellow scarf around her neck. "Vegeta, there's been an earthquake and some of the structures near the perimeter fell in. Go help."

"Why should I?" He growled.

Trunks's mother huffed. "Because I said so."

"I don't do requests."

"This isn't a request. I'm telling you." Bulma leaned against the doorway.

Vegeta crossed his arms. "Oh, so you give the orders now?"

"I always give the orders." Bulma gestured to Trunks. "Sweetie, go take a shower and put on some comfortable clothes. Training is over for the day. Go play. Your dad is going to do a little errand for me."

"No, he is not!" Contested Vegeta.

Bulma shrugged. "Fine. Trunks, I guess you'll have to do that little errand before you can go play. Come on."

"Um, okay mom," Trunks said, making for the freedom of the doorway.

"Trunks!" His father's voice stopped him. "Ignore your mother. You are not finished for the day until I say so."

"Vegeta," Bulma warned. "Not now."

"Why should my son give West City the time of day?" Vegeta argued.

"Because he lives in it and it is the right thing to do." Bulma gestured for Trunks to exit with a jerk of her head. "And because his mother said so, and Trunks loves her very much."

Trunks looked between his two parents, unsure of what to do.

Vegeta scowled. "He is a Saiyan warrior. An elite. A prince of the Saiyans does not dirty his hands on the common problems of the lowly masses."

Trunks's mother grinned ruefully. "Not a real wonder the Saiyan King was murdered and the kingdom fell. Maybe if Vegeta Senior had taken the time to listen to his commoners, your royal claims might still mean something," she said.

The glare Trunks's father gave his mother scared the boy. He dared not say anything about it, though.

"C'mon, sweetie. Let's go." Bulma fearlessly strode forward and steered Trunks from the gravity room by pushing his shoulders. The doors slid shut behind them. 

A few seconds later, Trunks heard a metallic smash as Vegeta broke something.

"Don't worry. Your dad'll get over it," his mother said.

\---

Gohan sat on Suno's couch in his underwear and with a blanket draped over him. Eighter imposed a cup of hot chocolate into his hands while Suno threw his snow-wet clothes in the dryer and doted on her new guest.

"Son Goku's son," she said, the ambient light dancing on her red hair as she shook her head. "It's hard to believe that it has been so long. Gohan, do you like fish chowder?"

"I-"

"Of course you do," she said, sitting a whole steaming pot of it on the coffee table in front of him. A baguette and a plate of grilled cheese sandwiches followed.

Gohan's eyes flirted with the meal in front of him. Valiantly, he pulled his focus away from its seductive charms and addressed his hostess. "I really appreciate this, Miss Suno, but I don't mean to eat all your food. I just wanted to buy some clothes and be on my way," he said.

"Nonsense!" Suno said. "I'm not letting you go until you've warmed up, had something substantial to eat, and told me all about yourself and how your family is doing!"

"I am very grateful for that, Miss Suno, but I cannot stay long. You see, I am here for something important--"

Suno grabbed a sandwich and shoved it into Gohan's mouth. "Oh, I know. I know. That's the way it always is with you Sons, I'm sure. But I remember how weak your father got when he was hungry and I'll bet you are the same way."

Gohan chewed and swallowed. Mozzarella. He blushed and traded his hot chocolate out for another sandwich. "Thank you," he said, opting to attack his second grilled cheese in more than one bite for the sake of appearances.

Suno laughed. "You know, I had a huge crush on Son Goku when we were children. I thought he was so funny, what with his silly hair and oblivious personality. And he had much worse manners than you do," she added. "Just shove it all down. You don't have to sit there and hold back on our account."

Gohan looked at her, and then at the soup, and then back to her. He narrowed his eyes and grabbed the pot by both handles. After another peek at his audience, Gohan lifted it to his mouth and downed it all in a series of quick gulps. The baguette and remaining sandwiches went next.

Eighter laughed and carried the empty dishes away. Suno tried to replace them with another platter of sandwiches, but they disappeared before she removed her hand from the plate. Instead, she opted to set down a glass of water and returned to the kitchen.

Gohan started on his hot chocolate and snuggled into the blanket. He had not expected to find friends of his father's so deep in the middle of nowhere.

"Do you want more?" Eighter and Suno asked in unison.

"No, thank you," Gohan said, suddenly drowsy.

Suno re-entered with a plate of cookies anyway and sat down on the sofa across from Gohan. Eighter pulled up a kitchen chair for himself. 

"Alright, my turn," Suno said, grinning. "Where do you live? How old are you? Who is your mom? Do you have any siblings?"

"Well," Gohan rubbed his crossed feet together. "We live across from dad's childhood home on Mount Paozu. My mom is Chi Chi, the Ox King's daughter," he started, conveniently forgetting the order and subjects of Suno's questions.

"You're a prince?" Eighter asked.

Gohan nodded. "I... Sort of. We don't do many princely things, me and my brother Goten."

"You have a brother?" Suno clapped her hands. "This is so wild!" She said.

"He's seven," Gohan affirmed. "And he looks just like dad did as a child."

"Wow," Suno said. "But how is Son Goku? What does he do now? Does he have a job, or is he still an adventurer?"

Gohan frowned, more so on behalf of the two in the room than for himself. "Actually, he is no longer with us anymore. He died seven years ago, soon before Goten was born."

"Oh no," said Eighter.

"I'm sorry," added Suno, looking at her hands.

"It is alright," Gohan said. "He died protecting the people he loved." He kept his expression unreadable and hoped neither of the others noticed.

The crackling of the fire and the ticking of Suno's kitchen clock dominated the conversation.

Then, Suno smiled brightly. "But enough about that! You never said anything about you!" She reached over and squeezed his hand. "You are in high school, right? Do you know what you want to do after? What are you going to be when you grow up?"

Gohan did not know what to say. He looked into the fire and saw Vegeta, wreathed in the heated wrath of his pride and heritage, staring back at him from the white-gold tinder and fuel. Son Goku emerged shortly thereafter, and the logs popped as the two gilded Saiyans clashed within the flames.

"A giant disappointment," the boy muttered.

"What was that, dear?" Suno smiled, unaware.

"I don't know yet," Gohan spoke up. "But I do need to leave. There was, well," explaining Dende would be a nightmare, "do you know if there was any kind of earthquake or explosion or something in the area? I was told that there was one somewhere around here and I need to go check on it."

Eighter nodded. "There was a big shaking, yes. It made a small avalanche on one of the mountains west of where Muscle Tower's ruins are, but I don't think nobody was hurt. My sensors told me."

"Oh, I didn't realize that, Eighter," said Suno. "Gosh."

Gohan looked at the android. "Is there anyone who might know more? Anybody who lived further up that way?"

Suno frowned and rung her hands. "There is that cult. But I wouldn't concern myself with them if I were you."

"A cult?" Gohan asked.

"Yes." Suno nodded. "They worship the sun drop something or another. I'm not really sure. It has something to do with The Cell Games."

Gohan suddenly felt like the blanket was suffocating him. "Do you know anything else about this cult?"

"They have not caused any trouble for us thus far, but they make me feel scared whenever I see them. It's almost as if some huge pressure radiates from them whenever they come near." Suno hugged herself.

Eighter put his oversized hands on Suno's shoulders. "They stay near where Muscle Tower used to be. I don't trust people who want to be by such a place of hate and cruelty."

Gohan looked out the window and bit the inside of his cheek. He thought of the bombing incident in Satan City. The perpetrator had mentioned something to do with a drop from the sun just before Gohan had snatched away his detonator.

The sight of a yellow cloud tapping on the glass from the outside ousted the episode from his mind. "Um," Gohan began, unsure of how to introduce the Nimbus, "you have a visitor." He pointed to the window.

Suno's eyes followed Gohan's gesture. "Eighter! Look! It's Son Goku's little golden cloud!" She rushed to the door and bid it inside.

At first, Gohan expected Goten's enthusiastically frostbitten face to greet him from the back of the Nimbus and was genuinely surprised that the only load it bore was a box tied onto the back with a series of strings. The cloud eased into the room and stopped in front of where Gohan sat.

"A delivery," Eighter said brightly.

Gohan untied the box. "Thanks, Nimbus," he said, freeing it from the string and its burden. "Now please make sure Goten and Dende make it back safely, okay?"

The Nimbus hopped in the air once and sped back out the door.

"What did you get?" Asked Suno.

Gohan opened the box. "A gift from above," he announced.

\---

Dende touched down in front of the Son household and released his hold on Goten. The little boy grinned back at him.

"One day, I am going to learn to fly even faster than you or my brother!" The child said, handing Dende the beetle book he had clutched for the entire ride.

"I have no doubt," Dende told him, and wondered to himself how he would carry both Chi Chi and Goten to the Lookout without the Nimbus's help.

He hoped the clothes he had conjured for Gohan fit and that the Nimbus found him quickly. Dende would hate for his dearest friend to freeze.

The Guardian examined Mount Paozu with his ears, his eyes, and his ki. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Perhaps Dende need not carry Gohan's family away at all.

Goten grinned. "Well, now I get to show you my house!" He said, and tugged on Dende's fingers. "Mom might even let me go look for Icarus instead of train with her today since I'm back early and she likes knowing where I am and will be too happy to say no to me. Then you can meet Icarus, too!"

"I would love to, Goten, but I feel I should check on--!"

Dende soon realized that any resistance was futile as Goten literally dragged him to the front door.

Goten barged into the house and greeted his mother. Chi Chi turned away from the sink and shrieked when she saw Dende.

Luckily, the Guardian saw the knife she threw at his head just in time to block it with an energy barrier. It fell harmlessly to the ground. "Miss Son, I beg your forgiveness for my intrusion," he said, prying his fingers from Goten's hand and bowing.

"Oh! Dende. I'm sorry. I though you were Piccolo, come to squat in my house again and corrupt my other son," she said.

"Such a mistake happens all the time, Miss Son," he said, winking at Goten. "One day, I may actually grow to reach Piccolo's height and then you will never know which one of us is which." He retrieved her knife from the ground and held it out to her, handle-first.

"God forbid that happen," Chi Chi said, accepting his peace offering. 

Dende smiled quietly and hoped Chi Chi's prayer was his to ignore and not meant for a higher God's ears. The little Guardian hated that he could not see eye-to-eye with either Piccolo or Gohan.

"But where is my other son?" Chi Chi asked, cocking her head to look between the two boys.

"Well--"

"There was some big thing Gohan had to go take care of and made us come home without him," Goten babbled, a little hurt.

Chi Chi clicked her tongue. "Oh, he ditched you to go off and play superhero somewhere." 

Dende supposed it was a true statement and opted not to give specifics.

"I'll have to get on to him about his manners." She turned back to her dishes, and then gave an about-face. "But why are you here, Dende? I thought you couldn't leave the Lookout except on special occasions."

"It is a very special occasion!" Goten shouted. "He's gonna play with me in the woods! Please, mom?"

Chi Chi sighed. "Oh, fine. Don't tell me. Go have fun."

Goten dragged Dende back out the door. The Nimbus crossed overhead, empty. Goten summoned it to his side and hopped on with his new friend in tow.

Dende took heart in the fact that he was pure enough to ride the golden cloud.

\---

The upper floors of Muscle Tower lay embedded deep in the snow, like a tree cut down long ago and left to rot in the white abyss. Gohan readjusted the red scarf around his nose and took off his goggles and hood as he landed.

The foundations of the tower's base stood broken and quiet in front of him. Snow had long covered over whatever had been inside, but Gohan made out the outline of some kind of vehicle. It must have been a garage at one point.

"Hello?" Gohan called. "Is anyone here?"

The wind howled and threw snowflakes at him. Otherwise, all was silent.

Gohan walked deeper into the ruined garage. The ice coating the back wall's Red Ribbon Army symbol glinted maliciously at him in the harsh sunlight. He turned away.

On the other side of the garage the snow abruptly disappeared to reveal the cement floor below. It was as if someone had melted the snow away in just that one spot and left the rest untouched. Gohan crept forward and realized there were two perfect footprints- a left one and a right one side by side- just in front of the bare floor. No trail lead to or from the clearing. 

Whoever had done this must have flown here.

As he got closer, Gohan spotted a round metal door in the center of the uncovered floor. He sat down on his haunches in front of it and tried to sense if anyone was on the other side.

There was definitely something down there, but it was too deep beneath the floor and too small for Gohan to get a good understanding of what it might be. He opened the round door and considered the ladder that waited for him inside. The unrelenting sun peered at the tunnel from over Gohan's shoulder, but could not illuminate the bottom.

Tentatively, Gohan started down it and sank, rung by rung, into the darkness below.

He scoped the place for signs of life once again. He could make them out easier the deeper he went- they were humans, surely, and a lot of them. Briefly, he wondered if it would be better to levitate downwards and spark a ball of energy to use as a torch, but he did not want to frighten the people down below. Their energy felt average and Gohan doubted anyone like Krillin or Yamcha was among them to shrug off a display of ki prowess.

Suddenly, the energy closest to him exploded and shot towards him at rapid speed. Gohan released the ladder and put his guard up.

It stopped at Gohan's eye level and a sudden red glow revealed a young man's face and gloved hand.

"There is no need to hide your power. We sensed you coming." The man extended his free hand to Gohan. "Welcome to the Circle of The Inner Flame, sanctuary to the followers of the Sun Children. Have you come to join us?"

\---

Trunks had his hands full with standing in for a collapsing bridge's support as the authorities cleared it of people and vehicles. He was glad that, on the one hand, his super strength could help others, but on the other hand, he hated that his mother made him promise not to brag about his heroics to girls or anybody outside the family who was not Goten or Gohan.

He frowned. He might never get the chance to even mention it to the Sons. They were probably playing on Mount Paozu right now and talking about how mad they were at Trunks. In fact, his best friends might be so sore at him that they would never speak to him again. Trunks dug his fingers into the steel structure he held aloft and looked past his shoes to the river below.

His mom said Vegeta would not be upset about Trunks leaving with her, but what if he was? Trunks remembered that, once, he had accidentally bumped into the hot water heater while goofing around with Goten and broken it while Vegeta was in the bathroom. Trunks's father was none too happy about the water cutting out in the middle of his shower and refused to speak to his son for days.

And this was much worse than that- Trunks had explicitly disobeyed his father to his face. What if Vegeta hated him now, too? The boy's shoulders began to shake.

Trunks was so preoccupied with his thoughts that he did not even notice the support to his right begin to tilt and spill debris into the water. A man's scream brought him to attention as he slid to his death.

Trunks panicked. He made to save the man, but then remembered that if he left, the bridge above him would collapse completely and immediately.

He watched, horrified, until a flash of yellow intercepted the man's terminal course just as he hit the open air.

Trunks gaped as the man, now suspended safely by two muscular arms, floated in front of him.

Trunks's uncle Yamcha grinned above the rescued man's stunned head. "I'd say I got here just in time," he said, his long hair swaying in the breeze. "I'll be right back to hold that other side, okay?"

Trunks watched as Yamcha darted to solid ground and released the man before returning to the boy's side.

"I didn't know you could fly," Trunks said.

Yamcha grunted, straightened out the warped support, and then braced it on his back.

Trunks blinked. "And I didn't know you could do that! You're human!"

"Oh, what, your dad's never admitted to you that Saiyans aren't the only beings in the universe who can kick some ass?" Yamcha rolled his eyes. "C'mon, Trunks, give us humans a little credit here."

"Can mom fly?!"

Yamcha erupted into a sudden peal of rude laughter. "No way! Bulma doesn't know how to use her ki, but you should give thanks every day that she's never had a mind to." He winked. "Now THAT would be scary. Has anyone ever told you about the time your mom went up against an armed military submarine in nothing but a bikini and a personal submersible glider?"

\---

The bottom of the Muscle Tower tunnel became a hallway. The young man guided Gohan to a door at the end and held it open. Light spilled out from behind it as he bid Gohan enter.

It was an office with a wall of monitors, all turned off.

"This room is a remnant of what the inhabitants before us left behind, but we have no need for it. We are not bound by only five senses to tell us when someone is coming," his guide said. "But I am sure you know all about that."

Gohan made no move to agree or disagree. "I appreciate you leading me down here, but I still do not understand who you are and why I would be joining you."

The guide's gold eyes tilted with his head. "Oh, really? What else might have brought you to this lonely place besides a desire to join the enlightened?"

The thought of sharing his mission with this stranger did not sit well with Gohan. The Red Ribbon Army insignia peered up at them from the floor like a dare. "I heard that there was an avalanche nearby. I came to see if everyone was alright."

The guide's face broke into a bright smile from beneath his green hair. "We managed to shake the surface this time?" He said. "Oh, how wonderful! I must inform our leader of this immediately. But details first- how big was it? How many mountains did we shake? Could they feel it as far as, say, Jingle Village?"

"You caused this?"

The young guide packed away his excitement and put on a straight face. "I've said too much already. But please- at least be so kind as to tell me the kind of effect our meditation had."

Gohan knew he was not going to get any more information without sharing some of his own. "They couldn't feel it in Jingle Village. They could only pick up a single avalanche using mechanical sensors."

"Relying on a machine. Barbaric." Scowling, the guide turned to a button on the monitor desk and pressed it. "But you," he said, returning his attention to Gohan, "you can use your sixth sense. You have knowledge of the inner fire. Do you not wish to find others with the same?"

"How do you mean?"

"This." The guide fired a sudden ball of ki from his palm at the wall. Gohan caught it and snuffed it out with his own.

"Are you an idiot?!" Gohan hissed. "We're so far beneath the ground that if you'd hit a support, we'd be buried!"

The guide nodded, pleased. "Exactly. So don't get any funny ideas while we bring you into the fold."

"Wha-?"

Gohan felt a multitude of ki signatures magnify themselves from undetectable to formidable as people burst forth from hidden places in the floor, the walls, and the ceiling. More emerged from behind the monitors, all reaching for Gohan.

Gohan threw open the door behind him and found more of the cult waiting on the other side. They grabbed hold of his white sleeves. Gohan pulled his arms away, but part of his outer coat did not come with him.

"We can't let you leave. You already know too much." The guide's voice penetrated the madness.

Gohan retorted with a solar flare and barreled out of the tunnel by air in its aftermath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops. Seems my autocorrect constantly wanted to turn "Suno" into "Sunk", so I had to go back and edit this again. Sorry!
> 
> We see the first true glimpse of our main antagonist! Hurrah! It only took twelve chapters!
> 
> I had someone on a different site get aggravated with me for downplaying humanity's ability to use ki in Gohan's speech to Goten. I did not know how to answer them at the time without outright saying "yeah, well, the villains are all ki-using humans, born and raised, I just haven't gotten to that yet." This chapter is informally dedicated to that person along with my sincere and sassy extra answer of, "I'd never dare forget how awesome the humans of the Dragon World are! You cut me deep! (And thank you for liking the humans enough to get mad about something like that because they should all be loved!)" ;)
> 
> Thank you for all of you who read and leave comments. It makes it all the more worthwhile to write these!


	13. Sore Losers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gohan dances. Dende waits. Chi Chi conspires.

The snow fled in a whirlwind as Gohan erupted from the basement of Muscle Tower. He climbed higher into the clouds and brought his hands down as if to incinerate the ruined base with a Masenko, but stopped himself. Needless death solved so few problems.

Gohan ground his teeth. He could flee all the way back to Mount Paozu so quickly that the Circle of the Inner Flame could not follow him, but that would send the mysterious cult straight to Jingle Village in search of his whereabouts. The boy doubted the cult interrogated gently, if their recruitment tactics were any indication.

Gohan had always known that humans had the ability to use and nurture their inner energy, but he had never seen so many possess such mastery of it at one time. This thing they believed in- the Inner Fire- it was certainly ki. Were they a group of fanatic martial artists? Gohan lacked the imagination to conjure up any other possibilities. He had never seen ki harnessed for any other purpose than turning fragile flesh and blood into an ultimate weapon.

Regardless, he was running out of time before the cultists recovered from their sudden blindness and emerged from the depths.

Gohan charged to the nearest mountain and ducked behind its far side. He had no idea how formidable the Circle was in earnest, but if his green haired guide's demonstration had been any indication, they were frighteningly competent when it came to understanding their own energy and sensing that of others.

The aftermath of the avalanche Eighter had mentioned lay below Gohan. The rock face of the mountain stared up at the open sky from beneath the broken trees still clinging to its meager soil.

Gohan created a pearl of ki equal in force to his base form and hid it in one of the craggy caves of the unshielded mountain. Then, after checking the area for the energy of the mysterious cult, he diminished his own presence and flew northeast towards the ocean. He planted a second decoy there before making his way to Yunzabit Heights.

\---

Chi Chi dug her knife into her turnips with a little too much force and chopped through the cutting block beneath it. She berated herself and moved the vegetable over to the other side of the wooden surface.

She had sent her son to public school to learn about the normal, everyday world and do normal, everyday things. Today, though, Gohan was once again gallivanting around as a super powered caped crusader and steeping his little brother in the weirdness Chi Chi had tried so hard to sever both her children from.

Goten was outside playing with an alien, of all things!

Granted, Dende was a nice alien and she owed him a lot, she supposed, but the part of her that would never see his pointed ears and antennae as anything other than demonic chafed at the idea of the Guardian's closeness with her boys.

Why Dende had even stayed on Earth was as clear to Chi Chi as how her husband died, and just as appealing a topic. The idea that someone like Dende could do anything to benefit the planet was laughable even if he turned out to be some kind of deity like Gohan had once told her he was.

The world Chi Chi lived in without her husband by her side was one of archaic superstitions and false idols, and Dende was another one at best.

She used to believe in the higher powers of her warlord father's pagan battle gods as a child and then in the goodness of something greater as the universe inadvertently and indirectly guided her beloved back to her time and time again. But Goku was dead forever now, and not because some god willed it so. He had died and lived and died again for the Earth on his whims while the gods above all stood by and wrung their helpless little hands. Goku had long ago cast away the veil of faith from Chi Chi's eyes when he chose his fate.

Her sons needed to come down from the clouds and focus on the Earth as it was, the same as Chi Chi had. No more gods, no more visitors from the stars. They needed to learn about the modern world and prepare for the responsibilities and challenges of reality rather than spend their time catering to the fantasy their father had dragged them all into.

But their mother could only do so much- Goten was a free spirit like Goku. He would never take well to the responsibilities of managing anything besides himself and what he wanted. Gohan was different. Chi Chi could mold him and choose for him. She hoped- no, she was sure, after all of these years because she needed to be sure she was doing right by him- that he would thank her for it.

Gohan was Chi Chi's firstborn and was to inherit what remained of her father's empire. She had groomed her oldest to be a prince his entire life, and it showed. He was polite, clever, kind, knowledgeable in languages, history, arithmetic, and the sciences, and he honored his family. His mother begrudgingly had Piccolo to thank for teaching him swordsmanship and the art of war, too. But none of that was enough.

A wife. Of course.

Gohan needed someone to continue the Ox line with. And she would love him and he would love her, and they would be happy.

Chi Chi recalled the girl Gohan had made lunch for yesterday.

Pushing her son into Orange Star had been a way for him to not only have normalcy in his life, but for him to meet other people his age. She knew, though, deep down inside, what she really wanted was for him to find someone. Still, the thought of Gohan being snatched away from her so soon had been hard to take at first.

It was still hard to take, really.

But if Gohan spent more time with that girl- if he liked her, if he dated her, if he married her- the family line would be assured. He would forget about Piccolo and Saiyaman and Saiyans and leave it all behind him. Gohan would surely be satisfied.

And then Chi Chi would surely be satisfied, too.

She finished chopping her vegetables and scraped them into the pot of boiling soup.

\---

Yunzabit Heights stuck up out of the ocean in uneven formations that threatened to topple themselves over at any moment. The lower ground was cracked and marred by canyons and the wind screeched vengefully as it clawed at the stubborn, permanent carpet of ice blue grass.

Gohan decided this was the most miserable place on Earth. It almost made him miss Muscle Tower's frozen ghosts. He shielded himself from the wind from within a cave at the base of one of the misshapen plateaus. 

The white overcoat Dende had sent to him no longer had both sleeves, but the blue fur-lined jacket underneath still offered him some protection. Gohan readjusted his red scarf over his face and pulled the hood tighter around his head. Then, he probed the area for his pursuers.

Gohan had purposefully left a trail of ki decoys for the members of the Circle of the Inner Flame to follow. Those of them too weak to make the journey would be left behind and those strong enough to do so would be intimidated by the trials of the unforgiving setting. After all, Gohan himself decided he hated being subjected to Yunzabit Heights, and he had picked the place.

Regardless, the cult would know where Gohan was and hopefully try to pursue him directly rather than through Suno and Eighter in Jingle Village. It was a little bit of a gamble, but it was the best Gohan could come up with short of outright submitting to them.

A spark of life far in the distance caught Gohan's attention. He created a new decoy for the cave and searched around the badlands for more hiding spots to leave energy beacons in.

With luck, Gohan would tire out his pursuers as much as possible before facing them directly.

\---

Yamcha handed Trunks his milkshake. The boy hesitated to take it. "This is better than anything you've had before. Promise. It's not chock full of that crappy protein powder Vegeta always has laying around, and it's not one of your mom's little diet drinks. It's honest-to-God chocolate, ice cream, whipped cream, and cherries. It even has real milk, too."

Trunks's attitude changed as he snatched away the glass. "I know what a milkshake is!" He insisted.

Yamcha grinned. "I was just making sure." He watched as Trunks's sour face morphed into a more open expression when he took a sip.

"This is really good," the boy said.

"Oh, I can use a blender with the best of 'em," Yamcha told him, sitting down on the couch perpendicular to the armchair Trunks had claimed.

After the hubbub surrounding the West City earthquake damage had died down, Yamcha had volunteered to watch Trunks while Bulma attended a business lunch with a partner company. The pair was currently sitting in the living room of Yamcha's apartment, with Yamcha doing his best to engage Trunks and the boy focusing entirely on his straw and his shoes.

Pu'ar floated into the room and settled on Yamcha's shoulder. "Careful you don't burn a hole into the floor," he said.

"Huh?" Trunks pulled his attention to the duo to his left. "Oh, sorry."

Yamcha crossed his legs. He had been watching Trunks closely when they were both underneath the bridge, and then afterwards as they cleared rubble from city access points. The boy had sported tear tracks running down his reddened cheeks and kept zoning out when Yamcha had not been occupying his attention with crazy stories about his mother.

"What's eating you, champ?" Yamcha asked.

He watched as Trunks bit down on his straw. "Don't call me that."

"Call you what? Champ?"

"Yes, that!" Trunks said. "I'm not a little kid. And I'm not a champion of anything, either, so don't try to tell me that I am."

Pu'ar and Yamcha shared a look. The little cat nodded and retreated to the bedroom.

"Okay. We'll have a man-to-man talk here. What's this really about?" Yamcha leaned forward.

Trunks gripped his milkshake and tried to hide his face in the glass for a moment before he abandoned it on the table. He brought up his legs and looped his arms around his knees. "It's nothing."

Yamcha rolled his eyes. Trunks didn't notice. "It's okay to say how you feel sometimes, Trunks. I know that this isn't a lesson anyone ever really taught you, but it is okay to cry and be upset."

"You sound just like mom," Trunks said.

Yamcha shrugged. "Is that bad?"

Trunks fiddled with his shoelaces.

Yamcha tried again. "You know, I sometimes used to watch your dad when he was training to turn into a Super Saiyan."

Trunks looked over at him.

"He would stay in that gravity pod thing until he was black and blue and then be right back at it the next day. He never said that training to ascend his current limitations was his goal, but we all knew it was." Yamcha grinned, a little ruefully. "But you know what? He couldn't do it for the longest time. No matter how hard he tried. It made him so angry and so frustrated. I never saw him actually crying over it- not with tears, anyway- but I know he must have."

"No way," Trunks said. "My dad would never cry. Warriors don't shed tears."

"Oh yeah?" Yamcha challenged. "Bulma's told me otherwise."

The boy gaped. "You're lying."

"Nope. Ask her."

Trunks stared hard at the remnants of his melting milkshake and shifted to sit on his hands.

"And you know who I have seen cry, sometimes even when he fights?"

Trunks shook his head.

Yamcha smiled gently. "Gohan."

Trunks looked away. "Gohan's a wuss."

"Wow. Harsh. Tell me what you really think," Yamcha teased. He regretted it when Trunks's shoulders began to quake and the boy took him seriously.

"See, I did it again! I don't actually think Gohan is a wuss at all!" Trunks cried. "I was mad because I was jealous that he wasn't paying as much attention to me and I took it out on Goten and made him mad at me. And then Goten and I got into a fight and he won, but he still won't talk to me and I think dad is also mad at me so he might start ignoring me, too! I can't say I am sorry to them because that will make dad even angrier at me and then I don't know what he'll do!"

Yamcha sat and absorbed the information. "You know, Trunks," he started slowly, "I don't think your dad would be all that mad if you apologized to anybody."

"Huh?" The boy said, weakly. "But if I do, then that's like admitting defeat. I'll be saying I was wrong."

Yamcha fought the urge to go on a suicide mission to slap Vegeta upside his head. "Really? Just from apologizing for being mean and starting a fight?"

"Well, yeah." Trunks sniffled, "I was wrong. I insulted Goten's brother and his dad even though I don't really think such bad things about them. I don't even know Son Kakkarot and Gohan is like my big brother, too."

Something about Goku's Saiyan name coming out of Trunks's mouth gave Yamcha goosebumps. "Well," he said, knitting his hands together, "both you and your dad have yet to learn that sometimes the stronger man is the one who is secure enough with himself that he can gracefully accept defeat."

"What does that even mean?"

"It means sometimes you are wrong, sometimes you are weaker than you thought you were, and sometimes you can be beaten by people you think less of. And a real man knows how to accept and admit those things to both themselves and the world, but still get up and fight another day despite them."

Trunks reached out and toyed with the straw of his milkshake. "Do you really think so?"

Yamcha laughed. "Oh, I know so. I know better than anyone."

\---

A light footfall announced that Gohan had company. He opened his eyes from his meditation and waited for the newcomer to make the next move.

It was the green-haired man from earlier. Gohan cast out his energy around himself thoroughly to ensure that he only had the one visitor, and was still wary even when he discovered no others. These people had already fooled him once by hiding their life force, and they could probably do it again.

"Your little scavenger hunt exhausted most of my kindred," the guide said. "But I was determined to find you." His mussed hair and flushed face revealed how much energy he had expended in greater detail than his pressed grey coat and pristine black boots cared to show.

Gohan hid his expression from behind his goggles and scarf.

"I could feel it when you thought about destroying our whole facility from the outside. You could have, but you refrained. Something inside held you back. Don't lie. You want to be part of the Circle." The young man held out a gloved hand.

"No, I just didn't want to slaughter a bunch of people. I don't even know what it is your Circle does."

The young man's extended hand reached back to smooth his green hair. "Slaughter? Us? No, the manmade part of our site may have been destroyed, but we would have survived."

"You sound very assured."

The young man laughed and crossed his arms. "Of course I am. We are not ordinary people, my kindred and I. Our mission is to nurture the Inner Flame. The part of it that lives inside of us would shield is from harm."

Gohan stared the stranger down and tried to read deeper into what little energy he let eke out from his body. It seemed natural. "You know that all humans can use their ki given proper training and time, right?"

"Oh, is that what you call it? You must be a martial artist. Much is explained." The young man considered Gohan for a moment. "What is your name?"

"My mother taught me it is impolite to ask for someone's name without giving their own."

"Touché." The young man bowed. "But I cannot give it to you as long as you are an outsider. Come join us. You could teach our new recruits many ways to bring out the power inside them. After all, part of our mission is to bring out the knowledge of the Inner Flame for everyone to know."

Gohan gestured from his midair lotus position. "You tried to kidnap me when we first met. Asking nicely after the fact is not going to get you very far." He pulsed the area again in an attempt to ensure that no others had come to find him during the young man's recruitment speech.

"Fair enough. But would you care to humor me just for a moment longer?" The young man removed his white scarf and weighed it down with a nearby rock. "I am poor at traditional combat, you see. My kindred have been trying very hard to change that, but none of their lessons have really stuck. However, I am very good at dodging and blocking." He smiled at Gohan. "Try and hit me."

Gohan narrowed his eyes and held his meditative position. "Why?"

"You are not very accommodating, you know?" The young man shook his head. "Fine. We'll make a deal. You've left my Circle disorganized and exhausted from your quick thinking, but it doesn't necessarily mean we can't overpower you if we pursue you. Think of this as a test."

"Of what?"

"If you can prove to me with your strength and guile that acquiring you by force is a fool's errand, my Circle and I will cease the chase and not ask your whereabouts. We despise allowing people like you to slip from our grasp, but there is no sense putting the whole organization at risk for just one martial artist."

Gohan sized up his opponent. "You're lying."

Green hair swept over gold eyes. "Maybe. Maybe not. But you have to go through me either way."

Slowly, Gohan put both of his feet on the ground and bowed to his opponent. Then, he charged.

The young man sidestepped and then ducked when Gohan sent an elbow after him. He circled around to Gohan's back and regained his full height.

"Take me seriously," he hissed in Gohan's hooded ear.

Gohan obliged and sent a blast of ki over his shoulder and to his opponent's face. It carved another hole into Yunzabit's terrain, but was otherwise ineffectual. Gohan spun on his heel and tried to knock the young man off balance with his foot.

His opponent hopped backwards. Gohan faced him and pursued. Soon, they had taken to the air and were weaving throughout the crevices and canyons, with Gohan directing the green haired man's retreat and always just barely unable to land a hit.

As agile as he was, the young cultist was not lying about his lack of combat prowess. He was a dancer. When they returned to the ground, Gohan had to admire how the man's evasive footwork always fell into one of five ballet foot positions.

Gohan struck to make the man take a step back to his left, a kick to send him gliding to his right, and then spinning them both around face to face in a new direction. Gohan commanded his opponent's next evasive pattern accordingly until he backed him into a corner.

The young man's golden eyes showed only an instant's panic before they hardened back into confidence. "You're kind of a smartass, aren't you? A waltz. Cute." He broke the rhythm and spun beneath Gohan's arms and to the side. Gohan deftly got in the way of his opponent's escape and stared him down.

Hitting the green-haired man was not Gohan's true goal. Control was. He had been steering the cultist's artful dodges the entire time to goad him into showing how much control the young man really had over his energy. Thus far, his opponent had slowly but surely been revealing more of his ki the further Gohan pushed him. If all of the other members of the Circle of the Inner Flame were at least this formidable as individuals, Gohan shuddered to think what they were capable of when together.

Still, one lone dancer was not enough to best Gohan.

The young man gasped, eyes wide, as Gohan got in his face. Then the dancer leapt backwards and, suddenly, Yunzabit's unforgiving winds picked up and swirled around him, whipping around his green hair and sending it into the air.

Gohan tucked the scarf over his face more tightly into his hood and entered the whirlwind. The winds themselves were natural, Gohan could tell, but the force containing them in this one area was his opponent's ki. One of the gusts came forward and threatened to knock Gohan off balance. He faded in and out of vision around it and closed in on the young man in the whirlwind's epicenter.

The dancer spun away from the blow Gohan sent his way. He disappeared and reappeared behind Gohan to send a return strike to his neck. Gohan caught it.

"I thought the challenge was for me to hit you, not the other way around," Gohan said, tightening his grip on the young man's wrist.

The cultist struggled to break free of Gohan's grasp. When he could not, he sent his other hand at Gohan's stomach. It also proved futile as Gohan whirled around and restrained it.

The young man's pointer and middle fingers were extended and sported a sinister purple glow around them. With a tug to both his opponent's arms, Gohan held him and crashed a knee into his stomach. The dancer's cruel light faded and Gohan let him drop to the ground.

Gohan wondered if it would be wise to finish the young man off for good, but knew he did not have it within himself to take his life. The boy took a few steps back and examined the land for any other lurking surprises. "I have won," Gohan announced, sensing none.

The young man picked himself up from the ground and gathered the wind back around him.

"If you don't stop this now, you won't have enough energy to escape these badlands," Gohan said.

"So you think," the young man retorted. "I hold within me the Inner Flame and the means to take more. It will sustain me, for I am its enlightened vassal." His hands began to glow once again.

Gohan steeled himself against his opponent's volley of wind bursts and moved like lightning to evade the cultist's violet hand strikes.

Continuing the fight was foolish. As formidable as the young man's speed and ki energy was, his body could not keep up with Gohan's latent training. The boy reached beneath the cultist's guard and pressed a fist where his knee had dug in earlier.

The dance ended.

\---

When Dende had displayed his knack for calming creatures down using his telepathic waves, Goten had immediately designated him as the holder of all the beetles they found throughout the day.

Icarus the dragon had also taken up adding bugs to the Guardian's person as well, and Dende was now a walking, talking insect farm.

The Guardian held his breath as Goten set the last beetle on his forehead.

"Perfect," the little boy said, admiring his masterpiece.

"Goten," Dende said quietly from beneath a face full of Hercules beetle, "shouldn't we get home to your mother soon? It is past sunset."

"Oh, we are. We've been going towards home for the past ten bug catches." The little boy held up nine fingers.

"Yes, but on foot. We flew here. Your mother will be very angry when we arrive if we keep up this pace."

Goten giggled. "Oh, she will be mad anyway. Gohan still isn't home. I can feel it."

"Yes, but," Dende shuddered as one of the insects on his head made to climb on his left antenna, "it wouldn't do to make her angrier, would it?"

Goten frowned. "I guess not." He jumped on top of Icarus and sat on the dragon's back. "Do you think you can fly with the bugs on you?"

Dende shook as a second beetle wrapped its legs around Dende's right antenna. "No," he squeaked. "I definitely cannot."

Goten frowned. "Aww. And I found some really good ones, too!"

"Goten, may I please release them?" Dende was sweating now. He could not swallow the pain of the weight of two exceptionally large bugs pulling on his most sensitive organs for much longer.

"I guess," Goten sighed. "I can catch them again another day!" He brightened.

"Thank you," gasped Dende as he sent the bugs flying in unison from his person with a gentle electric discharge. 

Icarus made a clicking noise as he watched the insects scatter. The dragon craned its head downwards to sniff Dende, and then licked his whole face. The Guardian's already sore antennae were not spared.

A sudden crashing in the trees pulled boy, dragon, and Namek to gaze at the woods.

Gohan emerged in his spring clothes and a layer of sweat. His energy barely whispered of his presence. "Did I startle you?"

"Big brother!" Goten cried, jumping down from Icarus to greet Gohan with a hug. The dragon joined the pair and sloppily kissed Gohan's face with his tongue.

Dende hung back and waited for Gohan to finish with them.

"I missed you guys, too," Gohan said. "I'm sorry I had to run off like that. Will you two go on home and tell mom I'll be back soon? I need to talk to Dende really quick and make myself not look like I'm broadcasting the fact that I got into trouble today."

Goten giggled and mounted Icarus. "Sure, but if she says I can eat your dinner, I'm going to!"

"That's cold, squirt," Gohan called as Icarus took off into the sky.

"Thanks for watching Goten," Gohan said to Dende as his brother and the purple dragon faded away into the night.

Dende hurried over and began running glowing hands over Gohan's arms, back, and torso. He could sense no injuries besides general exhaustion and minor dehydration. "It was no problem. But you are not hurt, are you?"

Gohan laughed as he felt Dende send energy into his weary body. "No. I'm just tired and hot. You don't need to heal me." He put his hands around his friend's wrists to stop him from wasting magic.

Dende obliged and fidgeted instead.

Gohan sighed and opened the buttons of his tan spring jacket. "I need to go stick myself in the river," he said.

Dende could contain himself no longer and gripped his friend's hands. "What happened? Why did you diminish your energy while you were gone? Did you not get my winter clothes? Is someone following you?" 

Gohan tugged one hand from Dende's grasp and rubbed his eyes. "It's... Apparently some cult in the north wants to make me join them," he said. Dende frowned as Gohan gave a taught, fake smile. "I don't think I discovered anything good. I'll tell you once I've had something to drink and don't feel like I've been flying around the world for the past five hours straight."

\---

Terpsichore sat up abruptly and was rewarded by a deep pain in his abdomen. He fell back down and stayed on the ground, baffled at the unfamiliarity of his surroundings.

He was in a cave. If the temperature was anything to go by, he was no longer in the isolated badlands of Yunzabit Heights, but somewhere on the mainland. The boy in the white coat must have left him here after he had finished his handiwork on Terpsichore's stomach.

This was bad. Failure to recruit was not so horrible, but failure to keep secret the true Inner Circle's location was a grievous mistake indeed. Granted, Terpsichore had not lead the troublemaker into the Circle dwelling proper, but only a moron would be unable to figure out that the tunnel beneath Muscle Tower ran deeper than the Red Ribbon Army's original blueprints had planned for.

That boy had proven to be anything but a moron. In fact, he was frightfully dangerous. He had sized up Terpsichore before taking him down in a way that only people bred for war and destruction could. Terpsichore may not have been a warrior, but he had seen enough of them to be able to tell.

The energies of the inhabitants of a nearby city sat on the edge of Terpsichore's awareness. It was probably the village of Yahhoi, and the boy probably intended for Terpsichore to seek help there when he awoke.

Terpsichore realized that his resting place was padded with the mysterious boy's coats and red scarf. The rest of his winter clothes sat in the corner of the cave. Asking the villagers if they had seen someone matching Terpsichore's description of the warrior boy would be useless now- the Circle's wind dancer had no way of knowing what his target had dressed himself in when he made his escape, and thus he no idea what to describe. Dark hair and dark eyes were too general of features to grant him a lead.

Still, Terpsichore would find the young warrior somehow. He would do so passively and slowly as to not draw the suspicion and anger of the boy who had spared him, but he would do it.

Terpsichore never had been a graceful loser.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first real fight scene of Heavy ends! Wow! It actually is starting to resemble Dragon Ball Z. Hopefully this new, gradual direction of more action-oriented stuff hasn't thrown you for a loop. I tried to marry in exposition about everybody's internal struggles so it wasn't just a giant fight scene, but the whole Gohan plot this time was kind of... A giant fight scene. Next chapter won't be. Next chapter is back to High School Hell.
> 
> Your mileage may vary over this kind of thing, but I would appreciate knowing whether you like some of that action crap or totally hate it since this thing is listed as a romance/drama and is probably not what you were expecting given the initial chapters.
> 
> Besides that, I just have some general notes here-
> 
> Trunks and Goten are currently unable to go Super Saiyan in this story. I always thought their sudden inherent ability to do so cheapened the whole thing, and was also utterly bizarre. Goku and friends could only achieve the transformation in a moment of extreme desperation and fury, and when in their lives have Trunks and Goten had that much pressure on them? The first taste of such horror came during the Majinn Buu saga, and Gotenks's personality hardly represented the super Saiyan struggle.
> 
> I will be exploring and playing with the concept of faith pretty significantly during this story. Given how wacky the Dragon Ball universe is, I doubt this is a problem for most of you, but I figure I should mention this considering that I have established that Chi Chi is faithless, Goku broke the heaven-and-earth concept, and Gohan prays to a God that is not Dende. Also that our bad guy is a fanatical cult. And that Krillin is an ex-monk. You know. I don't mean to make a point to push onto you of any of these characters' viewpoints, just establish that they have them and they will be played with.
> 
> Also, it's a habit of mine to try and use the words "super Saiyan" and "ki" as little as possible in anything that isn't dialogue because I think they sound incredibly campy (and in a bad way for writing a drama whereas it is great for the show.) I will also never outright write "power level" outside of dialogue or perhaps Frieza's point of view or something hyper specific like that. You can't make me.
> 
> Thank you for reading and sticking around, everybody! I really appreciate it!


	14. Midday Meal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Goten takes and makes a very important phone call.

Each compartment had a different kind of cookie- peanut butter, oatmeal raisin, chocolate chip, and some kind of lemon dough something rolled in powdered sugar.

"Those have raspberry jam in the center," Sevoya illuminated as she pointed to the powdered sugar ones. "I didn't know what kind you liked, so I made a bunch of different ones."

Gohan shook his head. "I appreciate it, but you didn't have to make me anything at all. I thought I told you."

"You never return a loaned dish without putting something else in it. It's the empty plate rule," Sevoya said, taking a seat next to him. "But if you won't eat them," she grabbed a peanut butter cookie, "I will."

Gohan was not entirely sure what to do. Should he hand the cookies back to her? Should he offer to share them with the other people in the room? Should he eat just one as a sign of appreciation and then give it back? Was it even his place to decide what to do next? He tapped his fingers on the box and looked anywhere but at the food.

Eventually, he discovered Videl leaning in towards his face. "So Gohan," she said with a smirk, "There was another cult bombing attempt on the lower west side this weekend, but Saiyaman didn't show up to stop it. It's pretty strange that he only likes to appear to stop crimes we hear about in class, huh?"

"That is very strange indeed," Gohan said, realizing that the drab paint on the far wall was absolutely riveting. "What an unusual coincidence?"

"Oh, very. And you know what else is so weird? You and Sevoya started getting all close after she kissed Saiyaman. Like, right after." Videl's blue eyes narrowed and the enamel of her teeth glinted from behind her smiling lips like the cruel, sun-lit ice on a steep slope. "So was it because she was a good kisser, or because you are really into the damsel in distress types, or what?"

While Gohan hemmed and hawed, Sevoya snatched up a cookie and slammed it into Videl's mouth. "I asked Gohan out before any of that even happened. We've talked about this. You like chocolate chip, right?"

Videl screeched from around a mouthful of cookie. "Just because you don't think he is Saiyaman doesn't mean I'm convinced!"

Sevoya fed Videl an oatmeal raisin next and patted her cheek. "Next time you see Saiyaman, sneak up behind him and take off his helmet. Then you'll know for sure."

Gohan hid a smile and looked at his shoes.

"I've tried that! It doesn't work! It's like he has eyes on the back of his head!" Videl grumbled, taking the remaining half of her second cookie from her mouth and chewing it slowly. "These are really good, by the way," she added.

"Thanks." Sevoya crossed her legs. "But if you can't think of a better way to catch him off guard, just kiss him first and then unmask him. I guarantee it'll work."

Videl and Gohan's faces almost exploded from the amount of blood pumping into them.

"Ew! No! I'm not about to kiss that stupid wannabe Super Mega Ranger Squad dork!" Videl's aggravated answer overpowered Gohan's pleading one.

Sevoya laughed at Videl. "Live a little. You won't get cooties or anything. The costume accurately shows how much of a Boy Scout he is. You don't even have to use your tongue."

A part of Gohan wanted to run far, far away, but the box of cookies pinned him to his seat. He was trapped.

Sharpener addressed the classroom from above his protein shake. "Speaking of which, what cooties hasn't Sevoya given you yet, brains?"

"Huh?" Gohan blinked at Sharpener. "You know that girls don't actually, um, have cooties, right?" He remembered that he needed to go home and disillusion Goten about this same topic. Trunks liked to make his younger friend believe all sorts of things.

Long, blonde hair sailed over Sharpener's shoulders as he rearranged it on his head. "Most nice, clean girls don't have cooties."

Gohan could tell it was an insult, but he could not, for the life of him, pinpoint exactly what it was Sharpener was insulting. Did Sevoya not bathe, or was it about dirty money? Did Sevoya deal in illegal business or drugs? Maybe it was sexually transmitted diseases. But why? It was not as if he and Sevoya were ever doing anything besides hanging out with one another.

"Sharpener, why do you lurk around here just to act like a giant ass?" Videl asked. "Go eat with Erasa and her new boyfriend or something. Or better yet, go somewhere else and shove your thumb up your butt."

"I can shove my thumb wherever I want to from right here, thank you." Sharpener smiled snidely, but it did not reach his eyes.

Gohan decided to change the subject. "So, Videl? I heard there was also some kind of a bombing incident last Thursday, and you went to stop it."

The pigtailed girl snagged another cookie and took a seat by Sevoya. "Yeah? What about it?"

Gohan rolled his words in his mouth like marbles before he chose which ones to say. "You seemed unusually upset over the whole thing when I saw someone mention it in the hallway around you. And, um, Erasa told me you were in a really bad mood when you first got back to school." Surely, that explanation did not reveal that he had been at the scene of the crime when she had stormed away from the culprit in a huff.

Gohan could feel Videl re-evaluating him as a person right then and there. "I can't believe you actually cared enough to ask," she said. "It's because of this cult, see. Or maybe multiple cults, nobody is really sure, but there are all these groups that want to kill the citizens of Satan City because, for some reason, they think my dad's lying about being the Earth's Savior."

"Oh, wow," Gohan tried to sound baffled.

"Yeah." Videl pushed away her bangs. "They think that those magicians with the gold hair from the Cell Games are the ones that did it, and I guess they worship them and do all that awful stuff in their name."

Gohan dropped his poker face, and obviously. He could feel the air in the room grow heavier as his energy gradually seeped out around him as a stress response. Hopefully neither of the girls nor Sharpener noticed.

Luckily, Videl took his horrified stare as one of disbelief. "I know. It's crazy stupid."

Sevoya picked out one of the lemon cookies from the bento box. "Actually, most of the derivatives of the Circle of the Inner Flame don't worship the gold people per se," she said.

Gohan and Videl's eyes snapped to the girl sitting between them.

"What?" Sevoya asked, chewing her cookie.

"Are you a member?!"

\---

Piccolo entered the Lookout's pavilion and quietly stood above Dende. The surface of the water in the white ceramic teacup in front of them rippled softly and constantly. Within its depths, Dende projected images of the Earth below.

The earthquakes had struck again during Dende's brief absence, as had that inkling of foreboding in the back of Piccolo's mind, but the way that the Guardian kept peering out over the planet told the Nameless Namek that Dende had discovered something more troubling and definitive than a hunch and a minor natural disaster. The two had not spoken since Dende's return, but the Guardian had been pulsing his troubled thoughts around himself since. The distorted, uneven reflections floating on top of of the otherwise pristine water in front of them also did not speak well of Dende's peace of mind. 

"I would not have been able to sense the nuances if I were not on the surface and on the same hemisphere of the Earth as the quake when it happened," Dende spoke, still staring into his cup. "I didn't think about it. I never would have thought that..." The water rippled more violently. He shook his head. "Earthlings. A bunch of them just east of the Tsumisumbri Mountain range are gathered in some kind of underground base and doing something. Gohan thinks they are human, and he is highly suspicious of them."

Piccolo looked deeper into the cup and saw a large group of people arranged like a mandala around a central column of flame. Tiny lights of energy sparked between their facing palms.

"The only unusual thing I see them do is this. And they chant, sometimes, too," Dende clarified. "It seems innocuous enough, but they tried to abduct Gohan. It doesn't matter how fruitless an endeavor that is. It troubles me that they would even try."

Piccolo could not help but chuckle. "A collective death wish is rarely something one should be relieved about," he said.

Dende frowned. "Do not make light of the fact that I put Gohan in such a position. It was a much greater challenge for him to figure out a way to escape these people without accidentally slaughtering them or dragging unrelated, innocent parties into the situation than it would have been if he were fighting some outright evil tyrant head-on. So much could have gone wrong. Gohan would have been truly distraught if he had accidentally seriously injured or killed someone."

"Only the truly strong have the privilege of showing mercy. And Gohan is soft. You should have no doubts about his ability to hold back."

"A backhanded compliment indeed," Dende said. "But you are missing the implication. If an ordinary person had been in Gohan's situation, they would not have escaped." Dende looked back to his water.

"Gohan is not an ordinary person. Not remotely." Piccolo crossed his arms.

"He is not who I am afraid for." Dende's stare swirled the contents of the cup around clockwise.

Piccolo growled. "Never lie to me."

A drop of water splashed onto the pavilion's cool tiles. "This is not just about him. It's the rest of Earth. If this organization wants to terrorize the planet's cities of ordinary people, that could pose a serious problem. They can hide their ki as well as use it." Dende shook his head. "They could move in, move out, and move on with barely a warning to the extraordinary people who could actually do something about it. Or they could spread out and attack multiple places at once and catch us all unawares. And no matter how fast our friends are, only Goku could instantly appear and disappear across the globe at will." 

Piccolo sat down across from Dende and took away the cup. "We do not know for certain that they even mean to attack anyone. As much as this worries you, it does not change the fact that you, as a Guardian, must act passively and only intervene with those events that the inhabitants themselves cannot overcome or that the planet itself cannot withstand." Piccolo gestured to the reflections of the strange group's meditation arrangement still hugging the water's surface. "With so little to go off of, this is nothing but divine vouyerism."

"How can you stand there and not be concerned? This is your planet, too."

Piccolo huffed. "Do not mistake my inaction for indifference. I have learned to use a larger picture as my guide. Through Kami, I have seen many more wars, plagues, centuries, and crises than you have. You cannot concern yourself every time there is a slight possibility someone might die."

"I am talking about many, Piccolo, not just a few."

Piccolo saw Mister Popo walk by out of the corner of his eye and bid the genie leave them with a shake of his head. He turned his attention back to Dende. "On Namek, there were less than two hundred others, right?"

Dende nodded.

"On Earth, it is different. Especially now, during peacetime. The number of Earthling inhabitants is closer to six million. You have yet to truly understand how much of a disparity there is between those numbers and what that means for the planet."

The image in the water became that of Freiza running Cargo through with a beam of light. It faded. "I fail to see your point," Dende said.

"You only know how to nurture and protect a garden, not prune it."

"How cold," Dende said, looking into the cup in Piccolo's hands for comfort and finding none. "First, you scold me for not paying close enough attention to the goings-on of the Earth when I decide to visit the surface and now you scold me for paying too much upon my return."

In truth, the discovery of this cult had come as a relief to the Nameless Namek. These humans were natural and of the Earth, and if for some reason they needed to be dealt with, doing so would be simple. Piccolo could think of worse alternatives. In fact, he himself had once been one of them in a former life. Oh, how far he had come. "On Earth, we do not immediately wish away our troubles with the Dragon Balls. We face them and overcome with our own actions," he said.

"And then you ask a Namekian child to create new Dragon Balls so you can wish away the consequences of your actions."

Even though Dende was not wrong, it was not his place to criticize his elders. Not yet, when he knew so little. The boy's anger was as green and naïve as he was, and it smacked of the headstrong hallmark of youth. 

Piccolo drank the water and left the empty cup in front of Dende. "Choose your battles wisely, little Guardian," he warned, and left.

\---

Sevoya was horrified. "Ugh. No. I am not a member of the Circle. I just read their flyers. Do they not come around to your neighborhoods in the dead of night and stick those pamphlets everywhere to try and recruit you guys?" Sevoya remembered too late that Gohan was from the sticks and Videl was the Videl Satan. "Never mind. Sharpener, do they not do that to you and your family?"

"They don't target people who can keep their pants on," Sharpener retorted.

That boy held a vendetta against her on behalf of the whole wrestling team and he was never going to let it drop. "Oh, yeah. I forgot who I was talking to," she said. "Whatever. But seriously, they were trying to recruit my dad so we ended up with all the literature."

Videl's blue eyes were fixed and suspicious. "Why were they trying to recruit your dad?"

She had said too much. "Oh, you know. I dunno."

"Sevoya." Videl hissed.

Sevoya stuffed the rest of her lemon cookie into her mouth and garbled her answer as she chewed. "So that's why," she added, swallowing.

"Sevoya." Gohan leaned closer to her. "Please tell us. We won't use it against you."

Sevoya hesitated and looked from Videl's aggressive countenance to Gohan's gentle one. They were like the devil and angel sitting on her shoulders- the first made her want to lie and the second urged her to tell the truth.

"I promise," Gohan said.

"See, the thing is," Sevoya whispered, flitting her eyes from Gohan to the floor, "my dad doesn't... he doesn't really believe that Hercule Satan saved the world."

"What?" Videl reeled like she had been hit.

"But he's not part of those cults, either," Sevoya quickly added.

"Your dad thinks mine is a liar, huh? Is that so?" Videl looked like she was ready to split the desks apart with her bare hands if they so much as sat in the room crooked. "And what do you believe, Sevoya?"

"I believe you shouldn't judge someone based on their parents," Sevoya tried, taking the box of cookies from Gohan's lap and offering them to Videl.

Videl leapt to her feet as if she had discovered a cockroach sitting next to her in Sevoya's place. "So you don't believe my dad, either. Is that it?

Sevoya tried to smile, but felt her chin sink into her chest instead. "Do you want to try the lemon ones?"

After giving Sevoya a long, harsh glare, Videl snatched up her unopened lunchbox, turned on her heel, and made for the classroom door. "No thank you," she declared, disappearing into the hallway. Sevoya got to her feet to follow, but Sharpener blocked her path to the doorway. He sent a sneer her way and then left to catch up with Videl. 

Sevoya watched them go.

The cookies still in the bento box she held made a soft rattling sound as her hands and shoulders shook.

"Videl will get over it," Gohan's voice cut through the empty gloom. 

Sevoya had forgotten Gohan was even there. 

"She just needs to learn to swallow her pride and admit how much this whole situation scares her. It'll be okay," he said, smiling at her from where he sat atop the front row desks.

Sevoya slowly returned to sit next to him. She put down the box of cookies between them and rested her clenched fists in her lap.

Gohan turned to sit cross-legged on the desk and face her. "You want to know a secret?" He smiled and took a cookie. "I don't think Hercule Satan saved the world, either." He took a bite. "But you didn't hear me say it."

The two sat in solidarity while the minute hand on the clock in the front of the room crept forward.

Sevoya almost asked him about the white bouquet and the black umbrella from the day after the Cell Games, but she could not make the words come out around the lump in her throat.

"These are really good," Gohan said. "They are much better than what I brought you on Friday. I can really only make two things. It's pitiful."

Sevoya swallowed. "I used a box for the peanut butter ones," she said.

"A boxed mix? Do those work? Mom never makes anything from a box. She says that something that easy is sure to not be any good."

Sevoya gestured to the half-eaten peanut butter cookie in his hands. "You tell me."

Gohan put the rest in his mouth and considered it as he chewed. "I'm sure my mom could find fault in it if she tried, but I think it tastes great."

"Not everything in life has to be hard all of the time," Sevoya said. "We just make it that way."

"You think so?" Gohan said, searching for something in his pocket.

"I don't know."

Gohan found the blue food storage capsule and tossed it on the ground. A stack of bento boxes as tall as he was appeared. "I brought an extra lunch for you today, too, if you want it. My mom actually made this one so it will by far be the best."

"The others were good!" Sevoya defended.

Gohan laughed. "You don't have to lie to me."

"I'm not!"

"Well, wait until you try this one. Then we can see how you feel about mine by comparison." Gohan handed her the box on the very top of the stack.

\---

West City's midday hustle and bustle did nothing to slow Trunks down. He fearlessly strode across the crosswalk a second before the walking man appeared and ignored the cars that almost hit him even after their light signaled red.

He was not sure if his perceived traffic invincibility was a product of his biological durability or his urban upbringing. Considering mountain-boy Goten's trepidation near moving cars, it was probably Trunks's desensitized attitude towards them that gave him such confidence more than anything else.

Speaking of Goten, Trunks needed to find a payphone out of the shadow of the Capsule Corporation. The one by the arcade was a good choice. If he had any leftover quarters after he made his call, he could blow them on the new racing simulator they had just installed last week. Trunks pulled the brim of his ball cap down over his face as he briskly walked away from where his father might see him.

\---

"I don't want to ask you to keep talking about this if you don't want to, but I'm from the middle of nowhere. I've never heard of all this Circle cult stuff and I feel like it's really important for me to know. I mean, these people tried to bomb a mall and I don't even understand why."

"No, it's fine." Sevoya brushed a stray hair out of her eye with the back of her hand and took another bite of her chicken katsu. "The Circle of the Inner Flame is the name for a bunch of different subgroups that have different goals, but share the same basic ideology. They think those people at the Cell Games can do the things they did because of some knowledge of the thing they call the Inner Flame, and the Circle believes that they made themselves known to the world to remind humanity of their own inner power. The golden-haired guys in particular they say were touched by drops from the sun."

Gohan paused in eating his fourth bento. He grabbed his knees and dug his fingers into them. "So they are like prophets."

"I think so," Sevoya said.

He shook his head. "But why attack Satan City? And why with means that aren't their- um, that Inner Flame."

"Well," Sevoya said, "Maybe they are using their Inner Flame and we can't tell? But, like, a lot of the pamphlets talk about bringing the knowledge of the Inner Flame to the unenlightened and remaking the world using it, so..." She put her hand on her chin. "Maybe they think people who believe Hercule's opinion that the Cell Game contestants were magicians threaten their message?" Honestly, Sevoya had no clue. But it was as good a guess as any.

"Maybe. But why now, though? Why not two years ago, or in a year from now, or something?"

Sevoya regarded Gohan's abnormally dark eyes as they searched the wall in front of them for answers. The air felt heavy and oppressive. She could not shake the feeling that the two phenomena were related. "Well, it probably has to do with the appearance of the Gold Fighter."

Gohan's eyebrows furrowed deeply. "The Gold Fighter?"

Sevoya shrugged. "Reports and pictures make him look like the Cell Games people did. They might take it as a sign. Like... he has come to show Satan City who really saved the world."

Sevoya almost thought she saw a crack appear in the tile Gohan was staring at. The air felt thicker.

"Hey," she said, "you don't look so good there. Maybe we shouldn't talk about this anymore."

Gohan looked up and ghosted a smile. "Oh, I'm sorry. I guess I went into my own little world for a minute."

"Maybe a little, yeah." Sevoya considered the last of the rice in her lunch. "This was really nice. Your mom really does make you seem like a lousy cook by comparison."

Gohan's pleasant expression became real. "I told you so. She's the best."

"The best? The literal, only, absolute best?" Sevoya grinned. "I take that as a challenge."

"I," Gohan gaped. "I didn't meant to imply- no, that is, I like what you made, too, they're just different, and, um," he spluttered for a few more seconds until Sevoya reached over and snatched a piece of shrimp from Gohan's open bento. "Hey!"

"You weren't eating it," she said, popping off the tail and playing with it as she chewed the rest of the shrimp.

Gohan shook his head. "Taking someone's food is a very dangerous move at my house."

"Oh, and you think it isn't at mine?" Sevoya asked.

"You don't understand. You might lose a hand in the process if you aren't careful. My little brother might bite it off if it finds its way to the wrong place at the wrong time. I mean, I might, too. You were lucky I wasn't stuffing my face just now. It could've been sucked right in." He laughed, and then stopped. "I'm actually serious," he said.

Sevoya pilfered another shrimp. "Oh, I believe you."

"Sevoya!" He cried, and then jealously held the box to his mouth and downed the rest of it with his chopsticks. Gohan turned away from her and started on his next bento. "I am a growing boy and I need all of this," he told her during and between mouthfuls.

She laughed and let him finish in peace.

\---

"Hello? Son residence," Chi Chi answered the ringing phone. Goten peeked his head into the living room in curiosity. Almost nobody ever called them.

"Oh, Trunks! Hi!" She smiled and locked eyes with Goten, who scowled. "Uh-huh. Of course. He's here. You can talk to him." Chi Chi gestured to her son and held out the phone to him.

Goten shook his head "no" and stomped his foot. Trunks probably called because he wanted to rub some accomplishment or another in Goten's face or tell him about some other horrible thing Vegeta had said about Son Goku and Gohan.

Chi Chi placed her hand over the receiver. "Come here now," she hissed.

Goten pouted and threw his nose in the air.

Her nostrils flared and she rolled up her sleeves. "Just a second, Trunks. He'll be over here in a minute. Huh? Are you sure? Okay, sweetheart." Chi Chi put the phone on speaker and set down the headset.

"Hey, Goten? Can you hear me?" Trunks's voice floated into the room with minimal interference.

Goten stuck out his tongue and turned to face away.

"Look, I know you are still mad at me, but I promise this isn't a trick. I'm calling to tell you," static mixed with Trunks's deep inhalation. "I'm really sorry about what I said and did. I never should have said those mean things about your dad and Gohan. And I don't mean them. Dad says you should never take back your words and mom says that I can't take back mean words so I shouldn't say them at all. I don't know what you think. But in case it's the same thing, can I at least say I am sorry for them and don't think them anymore?"

Goten snatched up the phone and tried to reel the snot running from his nose back into his face. "Trunks, I'm really sorry I punched you in the face when I got mad and again between your legs by accident when I got even madder," he cried. "I don't wanna be mad anymore."

Trunks was still on speaker. "You thought I was mad about that?" He asked. "I totally had that coming."

"Best friends shouldn't punch best friends in the nuts!" Chi Chi smacked Goten on the back of the head. "In the testycicles," Goten corrected himself. "I'm s-sorry," he sniffled.

"Dude, Goten, are you crying?"

"No!" Goten wailed. "Yes!"

"It's okay, man. I'm not mad at you, and you aren't mad at me anymore, right?"

"R-right," he said.

"So, like, you d-don't have to cry, okay?" Trunks's voice was obviously shaking on the other end.

"I'm t-tr-trying," Goten said.

"W-well, I'm not cr-crying," Trunks sniffled. "S-so there!"

"N-nuh uh!" Goten choked out. "You're a l-liar!" He hiccuped. 

"Yeah-h-h-huh I'm not!"

"N-nuh-uh!"

"Yeah-huh!"

"Nuh-uh!"

Trunks calmed himself. "Well, I am about to go play the new racing game in the arcade on the south side of the city. No crybabies are allowed, so if I'm gonna play it, then obviously I'm not crying!"

"Hey! I'm not a crybaby!" Goten caught Chi Chi's eyes and held them.

"Oh, yeah?"

Chi Chi shook her head and held up a basic arithmetic book Goten had casually misplaced between the couch cushions the day before.

"I'm not a crybaby," Goten asserted again, narrowing his drying eyes.

"Why don't 'cha come prove it?"

Goten got on his hands and knees and pantomimed pleading to his mother. "Maybe I will!" He told Trunks.

Chi Chi pointed again to the math book, adamant.

"Whatever. By the time you get here, I'll have mastered it anyway and be too bored to even let you try." Trunks blew a raspberry into the phone.

"Two plus two is four," Goten mouthed to his mother. "Three times three is nine, Twenty four times six is four, nine times five is, uh..."

Trunks was smug. "You chickening out over there, or what?"

"No!" Goten shot back at Trunks. Then, he continued convincing his mother. "Eight times eight is a lot, twelve times twenty is a lot more, and, uh," he tried to think of something he heard his big brother say once while they were watching television. "For every fraction, the numberator and the denominations may be multi-plywooded by any sane number and the fraction will still have the same great value of, uh, nineteen ninety nine? Plus shipping and handling?"

"Fine. Take the Nimbus to West City and rot the rest of your brains out in that stupid arcade. See if I care," Chi Chi relented. "Be back by nine." She put her hands on her hips and walked outside.

Her son held his breath as the door closed behind her.

"It worked!" Goten whispered into the phone, taking it off speaker. "B-but, you really are sorry, right?"

Trunks sighed. "Yeah. I'm really sorry. Don't tell my dad, though."

Goten shrugged. "It's none of his business, anyway. But I'll be down there in maybe an hour and a half if I make the Nimbus go really, really fast. I have so much stuff to tell you."

"Like what?"

"Stuff like, um," Goten tried to find a way to begin. "Do you know what a Namekian is?"

\---

The flame in the center of the dark room swayed to and fro as Terpsichore danced around it by way of his energy's wind. He had been confined to the private meditation chamber for three days as punishment for his failure to bring in a dangerous party and jeopardizing the secrecy of the Circle's inner workings.

Terpsichore was glad for the solitude, really. It kept him from having to face his protégés so soon after such a failure. Only his assistant was allowed entry into the chamber to serve him food and impart any information she had gathered about the mysterious martial artist. He was comfortable with facing her even in his moment of shame.

Terpsichore generated a small gust in his hands and released it towards the flame. He then raced in front of it faster than the eye could follow and redirected each breeze away from himself and the flame with more of his own life energy.

That boy had never been in a position of weakness. He had just been playing with Terpsichore the whole time for information, and Terpsichore had fallen for it. The wind dancer circled around the flame slowly and practiced his steps. Gradually, he began to walk off of the ground and into the air by creating balls of energy beneath his toes with each step he took. It was an exercise in control, balance, and endurance that he used with the more advanced followers.

Terpsichore had never been interested in fighting. He was a teacher and a dancer who practiced for the sake of his love of the art, and for his own ambition to be the best at what he did. He hated being brushed aside so lightly by a skeptical brute who used their inner strength and aptitude for something so crude as combat.

He spat into the dirt. Terpsichore himself had been pressed to stoop to the same level when he had tried to strike at the boy's neck to drain his energy. There was a place for every form of the art of manipulating the Inner Flame, but by no means did Terpsichore wish to involve himself with all of them. His temper had gotten the better of him and he had attempted to strike his opponent in the back. That, more than anything, had declared his loss.

He knew the fault was his own, but he could not shake the displaced resentment that had fallen to the boy in the white coat and red scarf. Those feelings fed into Terpsichore's responsibility to fix the situation and made him all the more annoyed.

A soft humming preluded the door behind him opening. Terpsichore could sense Calliope entering with the midday meal. She set it down and removed the empty breakfast tray.

"Hello, Calliope," Terpsichore said, turning around. "Have you found anything?"

She shook her head, but produced a small, faxed flyer from her pocket. She tapped her feet in a rhythm that said, "Perhaps this?"

Calliope was mute. She had been one of Terpsichore's first students, before the Circle had found either of them. He took the flyer from her.

"Tenkaichi Budokai." Terpsichore shook his head. "Of course. That competition on Papaya Island. I forgot it was this week." He skimmed the details. "Thank you, Calliope. Fruitful or not, this is more of a lead than I could get." 

She smiled and signed, "Eat something!" With her freed hand and the empty tray, and then left the way she came.

\---

"Mom?" Gohan asked at dinner.

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"I've been asked to go with a friend to the Tenkaichi Budokai this weekend," he said, keeping his eyes on his food.

Chi Chi stood up. "You may not compete. You may not go train. You've wasted enough time doing that for one lifetime."

"I'm not entering, mom. I'm going as a spectator."

Chi Chi was surprised, to say the least. "Oh?" She said. "Who are you going with?"

Her oldest lifted his bowl and buried his face deeper into his rice. "Her name is Sevoya. She says her dad makes her go with him every time it happens and she doesn't want to be stuck with him and nobody else the whole time."

"The girl with the ten course meals?" Chi Chi gestured to the stack of bento boxes by the sink. "The one I made the extra lunch for? Who made you those cookies today?" She could hardly contain her excitement. "Of course you can go! We can all go!"

"Mom, I don't--"

Chi Chi crossed her arms. "It'll be fun! Oh, I can't wait to meet your first real girlfriend!"

Gohan gave his mother that look that Goku used to give her when she mentioned he needed to go to the doctor for a vaccination. "She's not my girlfriend! Don't get any weird ideas here, mom!"

"Trunks said girls have cooties," Goten took a break from his meal to interject.

"That's a myth, too, Goten," Gohan told him. "Lots of people older than you believe it, including this guy in my class, but I promise you it isn't true."

Goten nodded and kept chomping down his meal. "So if I competed," he got out, "would it be the "Gotenkaichi Budokai?"

"I don't think they'll rename it the "Strongest Under the Goten" just for you, squirt." Gohan said.

Goten launched his bowl into the air as his hands shot up. "They might! You don't know that! Mom, can I enter? Please?" Gohan quickly caught the bowl as it fell back down to the ground and set it back on the table.

"There's a junior league now, for kids," Gohan added. "He wouldn't have to be fighting grown adults or anything."

Chi Chi eyed both of her children and weighed her options. "Only if you do all of your math and reading for this week, young man!" Chi Chi decided. "Including what you skipped out on today!"

"I promise," Goten crossed his heart. "I have to call Trunks and tell him," he blurted, and scrambled from the table to the telephone.

Gohan and Chi Chi watched as the little boy dashed over the brightly polished kitchen floor and into the homey living room to the phone.

"I didn't expect you to say yes so easily," Gohan said to his mother.

"Neither did I," she admitted. "But he looks and acts so much like your father that I didn't have it in me to say no."

Gohan gathered his next bite between his chopsticks. "Is that why you are letting me go watch? Because I remind you of dad and you can't say no to me, either?"

Chi Chi laughed. "Oh, not in the slightest. I wouldn't dare let you compete because you don't remind me of him at all." Her Gohan was smarter and gentler and different from Son Goku in every way except his hair, eyes, and penchant for fraternizing with aliens. Chi Chi was determined to change that last one with some time and help from that Sevoya girl. "I can say no to you all I want!"

"I see," said Gohan after a moment. He took his plate to the sink, and Chi Chi wondered if she had said something wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You have no idea how much I wanted L(a)unch herself to just APPEAR somewhere in this chapter, considering the theme here, but I couldn't think of a good, meaningful way to do it.
> 
> Whenever I make or write a character- and I understand this is common- I give them a little piece of myself. For Sevoya, it is her attitude and knowledgeability towards food and hospitality. If you like someone, you never let that sunuvabitch go hungry. Also, and this should be understood, I influence everyone's closet.
> 
> Also, hopefully that pun with Goten's name still holds and you all get it. Um. Yeah.
> 
> Thanks for your readership and support!


	15. Familiar Faces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Videl has literally the worst day ever. Also, Enter: Krillin, Eighteen, Roshi, Marron, and the loggerhead Turtle!

The Wednesday sun shone brightly over West City's skyscrapers and bounced from window to window as it slashed out a glare of light across the whole east side. Trunks and his mother stepped out from behind the sliding doors of their expansive home in sunglasses.

"It's hot today," Bulma observed.

"No kiddin'!" A man dressed in jeans and an opened button-up strode up to the two of them. "I'm regretting wearing two shirts!" The shade of the building beat away the sun to reveal Yamcha's grinning face and Pu'ar on his shoulder.

Trunks smiled up at him. "Hey, Yamcha! Hi, Pu'ar! Are you coming, too?"

"We're the ones taking you. Of course we are!" Pu'ar announced.

"I thought mom was flying me in the jet copter," Trunks said.

Bulma pulled a capsule from her purse and handed it to Yamcha. "So did I, but the Prince of All Disasters broke the prototypes we made to present to a client this Friday, so I've got to go fix that now," she said.

"Seriously?" Yamcha asked, stuffing the capsule in his front shirt pocket. "That's why you called me?"

Bulma shrugged. "Vegeta was trying to be helpful. He asked if we wanted him to move them from the lab and into the warehouses for us, but he hadn't totally acclimated to grabbing something of that weight and size at anything other than, what, were you at three hundred today?" She looked to Trunks.

"Eighty five," her son mumbled, suddenly feeling inadequate.

"Yeah, eighty five times the Earth's gravity yet. So, you know. That didn't end well."

Trunks suddenly recalled the loud crashing he had heard while he was in the shower. Much was explained.

Meanwhile, Yamcha shrugged. "Huh. Maybe you could rent him out to a demolition crew."

"He'd look cute with a yellow hard hat on top of that hair," Bulma said, turning and waving. "See you boys later! Have fun!"

"'Bye, mom!"

Yamcha looked down at Trunks. "So are you ready to roll?"

"Um, sure." Trunks rubbed the back of his head. "I don't know where we are going, exactly, but yeah, I guess!"

"Bulma didn't tell you? Pu'ar asked.

"Nope. After dad and I got done training, mom just told me to go take a shower and get ready to go somewhere."

Yamcha chuckled. "Well, in that case, I'm not going to ruin the surprise." But here's the real question- you wanna take a vehicle," he pointed to the capsule in his shirt pocket, and then floated into the air. "Or do you wanna really fly?"

\---

Bulma sent an electrical current through the endosuit once more. It lit up. She watched it charge and was about to congratulate herself on her repair job when the left arm sparked and burst into flame. She cursed and grabbed the fire extinguisher.

Vegeta decided that this very moment was the optimum time to interrupt her from her work. "Bulma!"

"What?" She asked, shooting a spray of foam onto the fire, her voice as inviting as soured milk dumped into a used toilet.

"Where is our son?"

She was tempted to tell him to stuff his head up his ass and try looking there, but, all things considered, she doubted he actually deserved the attitude. "He is going to meet Krillin and Eighteen. And Roshi," she said.

"Hmpf," Vegeta grunted, framed by the doorway. "Why?"

"Because he has never met them before."

Vegeta crossed his arms. "So? Why is he meeting them at all?"

"Because they happen to be like family to me," Bulma said, almost patiently, as she sprayed the last of the flames out with white retardant.

"But they aren't. _You_ are his family, but not your friends. They are just peons. And I am his family. And _I_ say he needs to train."

Bulma rolled her eyes. There were some things Vegeta might never be able to wrap his head around. "I thought you said he was finished for today."

"Yes, with his before-lunch training. Soon, we must have after-lunch training."

Bulma checked inside the body of the endosuit. The tiny computer and circuits looked intact, save the fuses on the left side. She had been working for months on these- they, along with their harder and utterly less salvageable exosuits, were the initial designs for devices that could use an initial electrical output to amplify a person's existing ki and make it into a protective barrier around them, much the way Vegeta and her other muscleheaded friends did during their absurd battles in defense of the Earth and their egos. In a few years and with the right adjustments, she thought she could market a line of her invention as both space suits and deep sea diving suits to the corporate world and then to the general public.

"Well? Where are they?" Vegeta snapped. "Those idiots keep their energy so low during peacetime that I can't find them on my own. Are they on that tiny island with the heinous pink house, or some other stupid place in the middle of nowhere?"

"This is about the tournament this weekend, isn't it?" Bulma asked, removing the left arm from the endosuit.

"What do you care?"

She knew she would have to wear him down with a little more attitude before he would open up to her and be honest about his feelings. "You're right. I don't. I plan to watch and cheer on my little boy as he and Goten beat the crap out of one another, win or lose, so long as they both have fun." It was not exactly a lie. It all depended on how much Chi Chi might gloat and whether or not Bulma won or lost money over it, really.

"Upholding the pride of the royal Saiyan line is more important than simply having _fun_ , woman."

Bulma cut open the rubbery gel of the endosuit's arm and began extracting the charred wiring. "You know, you have lost to Goku at nearly everything since I have known you, but that has never jeopardized your status as the number one royal Saiyan pain in the ass around these parts." Bulma tuned out Vegeta's outrage and silently counted to three after he finished shouting. She had to make sure he got it all out or he would not feel any better. "I don't see how Trunks winning or losing a friendly, competitive match with his best friend determines his place in life."

Vegeta huffed and stormed into her space. "I have explained this time and time again! We are Saiyans. We do not have friendly matches. We win, or we die. And if we don't die, our own tenacity and struggle against our end proves our worth and makes us ever stronger. It gives us the chance and the means to fight again, and that gives us purpose." He pressed both of his palms into Bulma's organized work table and peered down at her as she finagled wires out of burnt gel and fire extinguisher muck.

"Well, so what? If Trunks loses, he gets stronger. If he wins, Goten gets stronger. You said so yourself after their fight in the woods last week. Big whoop. Everybody's happy." Bulma reached past Vegeta and grabbed a pair of needle nosed pliers.

Her Prince Charming ground his teeth. Bulma could actually hear it happening. 

She sighed and took a different approach. "Look. It's about your pride. I get it. You can't fight Goku, and Gohan won't let you fight him, so pitting our kid against Goku's is the next best thing. But see, you need to think about Trunks' feelings about this, too."

"Trunks wants to win!" Vegeta exclaimed, slapping her table in two. Bulma could tell from the subtle widening of his eyes that he had been trying to make a gesture for emphasis rather than accidental destruction and chose not to get mad or make fun of him about it. They had bigger fish to fry right now.

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean you should make it the end of the world if he doesn't win." She picked up the ruined arm and walked it over to the rolling cart of spare parts that sat next to the rest of the endosuit.

"You'll never understand," Vegeta hissed.

Bulma shrugged. "I think that's for the best."

His head jerked around to shoot venom at her with his eyes. 

She always did want a sensitive man, but Vegeta was sometimes a bit _too_ sensitive. "Don't get your panties in a twist. Just because I can't always understand you doesn't mean I don't care about you." Bulma cleared part of the cart and put down her project on it. "It also doesn't immediately make what I have to say any less valid."

Vegeta scowled and leaned against the wall closest to Bulma. She fished a microchip out of the mess and examined it to see if it was still useable or as burnt as the hardware around it. These endosuits- when they weren't broken- were currently only able to handle electricity, not ki.

She trashed the rest of the arm and ignored the constant cracking of Vegeta's knuckles. 

Finally, he gave a defeated sigh. "You know, if you want that thing to work beyond this week's demo, you should have its initial startup energy be the wearer's own rather than using electricity to jumpstart it. Keep the artificial in a battery to supplement the other as needed and recharge itself, like in those automobile devices you make. Otherwise, whatever kind of regulator you have synchronizing the artificial and living energies will be overloaded every time the wearer's energy fluctuates beyond or below a certain threshold," Vegeta said. "Few of even the best and most controlled warriors continuously can keep their energy at an absolutely stable constant for extended periods of time. And someone with a temperament like Kakkarrot's oldest would blow the damn thing the minute he even thought he sensed an insect stub a toe somewhere on Earth."

Bulma considered her suit, and then nodded. "Huh. The things I'd never know without you here. But, y'know," she smiled.

"Do I know what, woman? Don't trail off like that when addressing a Prince."

Bulma stood up and kissed Vegeta on the cheek. "Insects don't have toes."

\---

Krillin absorbed little Trunks's arrogant, entitled stare and the bright, vacant one tiny Goten wore beneath his inherited hairstyle.

"Well I'll be damned," he said, wondering if Yamcha and Roshi also felt like they had landed in The Twilight Zone when they beheld the pair.

\---

Videl twisted the gun from the robber's grip and yanked his disarmed hands to his back so she could get him into handcuffs. One of her captured perpetrator's accomplices burst through the storefront window and tackled her in an attempt to put her out of commission. Videl moved so that her cuffed robber took all of the incoming force instead.

"Dammit, Curly!" Screamed the cuffed one as Videl released her hold and sent them both tumbling to the ground.

"Oh, don't scream at him," Videl chided, reaching down to restrain Curly in metal as well. "You got yourself into this mess just fine on your own." She went to take their guns from their holsters and check for any concealed weapons.

"So you think you won, smart girl?" The bottom robber lifted his head and shouted. "Larry!"

Videl whipped her head around just in time to see one of her backup officers snatch an Uzi from behind the cashier's counter and point it her way. She threw herself down onto the ground while a spray of bullets destroyed the storefront behind her in a spectacular avalanche of broken glass. The police inside the gun shop followed her example while the ones outside dove behind their barricade.

"I can't believe you people thought taking us in would be that easy," Larry muttered, dragging a cowering officer near his feet away from the shattered windows and behind the privacy of a solid wall. "Miss Videl, be a pal and let my fellas on the ground over there go, wouldja?" Larry knocked his smoking barrel against the displaced officer's head in warning. 

After a tense moment and a few more of Larry's impatient Uzi prods, Videl did as she was told. Curly and his black-haired partner immediately restrained her and likewise pulled her from the vulnerable open windows and to the solid security of the far wall. 

"Thanks for making this so easy for us," the one with the black bowl cut hissed in her ear. Curly pulled out a rag and a bottle of chloroform from his pockets.

"You creeps!" Videl screeched, struggling. 

Larry silenced her ruckus by reminding her with a few skyward bullets that he had both a hostage and a gun. The grounded police backup and unlucky patrons screamed while a few lights blew. "What kind of idiots think a buncha fully armed people are gonna want to go and rob a gun shop? We already gots guns!" He said.

"This is a setup?!" Videl hissed, hoping the police force outside could overhear.

The black-haired one nodded against her cheek. "What we don't have is a little celebrity crime fighter. We're not gonna do nothin' to ya, Miss Videl. Just take you somewheres else to meet some Circle guy for lotsa money." He eyed Curly. "Open the bottle, you knucklehead. We gave you the easiest job for a reason."

"I'm tryin', Moe!" Curly complained, struggling with the lid.

Another voice butted in with a dramatic clearing of the throat. Everyone looked over to its source.

The Great Saiyaman, looking just as much the Christmas eyesore as ever, decided to forego flying inside through the gaping windows and enter through the useless metal doorframe in the center of the scene. "Unhand these citizens, you vile delinquents!" He did a double take when he identified the damsel in distress. "Oh! Miss Videl! H-hello! May I offer you some, uh, assistance?"

Videl almost wished Curly had sedated her already so she would be spared Saiyaman's idiocy.

Moe scoffed in Videl's ear. "Delinquents?! Whadda we look like to you, a buncha junior high kids vandalizing an overpass?" He directed his attention to Curly. "New job, ham hands! Pull out your gun and take care of the clown over there!"

"Uh," Curly stalled, looking at his successfully opened chloroform. 

Larry took charge and fired his Uzi at Saiyaman, who caught the bullets and let them fall harmlessly to the ground. Then, the caped crusader faded out of vision and reappeared in the same place, but with Larry's gun in his hand. He removed the cartridge and bent the barrel in half.

Videl took Saiyaman's stupid, self-satisfied little smile as her cue to flip Moe over her back and into Curly. The chloroform sailed into the air and spilled all over the three of them.

Videl tried valiantly to keep herself awake, but the fumes emanating from her wet clothes proved too much. Before her vision faded into blackness, she saw a panicked Saiyaman incapacitate Larry and then scramble over to catch her.

"You're.... a dweeb..." She muttered, and felt herself collapse.

\---

The classroom clock greeted Sevoya with a constant, tiny, and lonely sound that whispered through the empty classroom. She fiddled with the end of her blue storage capsule and sat down in the seat next to Gohan's.

It was possible that he was absent today. She had no way of knowing, and she knew better than to ask Erasa or Sharpener.

Sevoya looked over to Videl's seat. Maybe Gohan was eating lunch with her and her two friends right now. The thought of going to the cafeteria alone to find the four of them laughing at her expense filled Sevoya with dread, and the thought eating in the empty classroom was no better. She stood to leave.

But Gohan had said he would go to the Tenkaichi Budokai with her, and he had told her he thought Hercule Satan's heroism was a lie, too. And yesterday, he had waited in the classroom and eaten lunch with just her. He had. Gohan would not do that just to ignore her later. 

Would he?

Sevoya remembered the tiny dinosaurs and teddy bears on the wrapping of Gohan's bento boxes. In her head, they bid her sit, and she obeyed.

She opened her lunch box and started on her sandwich.

\---

Around five o'clock, Gohan touched down on the shores of Roshi's island with his energy suppressed and in full Saiyaman regalia. Eighteen's blank, no-nonsense stare contrasted sharply with the kitsch and enthusiasm of both Master Roshi's Hawaiian shirt and the Kame House behind them. Turtle was the only one of the three who bothered to wave.

"Hi!" Gohan greeted. "It's nice to see you!" He spun around to show off his cape. "Look! I'm a superhero!"

"Gohan, you keep prancin' around in that, people're bound to think you're some kinda themed booty call boy," Roshi muttered.

Turtle slapped Roshi on the leg with a flipper. "Master!"

Gohan reeled, gaped, and then hit the button on his watch. The traditional outfit Piccolo had changed his street clothing into replaced the superhero guise.

"That's not much better in the modern world, but it'll have to do," Roshi said.

"Why doesn't anybody like Saiyaman? I've got a cape and everything!" Gohan searched the ageless Turtle, the shameless old man, and the expressionless blonde for answers.

Turtle smiled. "It's not that bad," he said encouragingly.

"It's pretty bad," Roshi condemned.

Eighteen shrugged. "I've dressed Krillin in worse. He's behind the house with the boys and Marron, by the way." She jerked a thumb over her shoulder and went back into the pink house. "Thank your mom for the wine she sent your little brother with."

Roshi turned to watch her go, and Turtle bid Gohan escape before he was subjected to Roshi's lewd commentary about Eighteen's backside. 

Krillin raised a hand in greeting to Gohan as he came around. "Hey!"

Goten and Trunks looked up from the sand castles they were building with Marron and hustled over. The little girl followed suit, slower.

Gohan welcomed the incoming pile of children as it hugged his person. Marron, in particular, all but tripped on him in her hurry to see who he was.

"Daddy says not to talk to strangers, but if Goten and Trunks know you, I know you too!" She attached herself to Gohan's leg. The two had actually met before, three years prior, but Gohan could hardly expect Marron to remember his presence in the hospital the day after she was born.

Gohan pointed to the blonde toddler and mouthed to Krillin, "Marron? Adorable! She's so big!" And sent a thumbs-up when Krillin agreed with a nod of his close-cropped head.

"Master Roshi and Krillin taught us how to shoot Kamehameha waves!" Goten said, looking up from where he hung on his brother's waist.

"That's awesome, squirt!" Gohan said, more impressed that his little brother did not butcher the word "Kamehameha" than anything else.

Trunks interjected next. "And Yamcha taught us some Wolf Fang strikes before he left, and also this cool way to block swords with our hands!"

"Yamcha taught you those?" Gohan was legitimately surprised that Yamcha would do anything so significant with Vegeta's son. "Yamcha was here?"

"It was a little unnerving for all of us to watch our life's work be mastered immediately by a couple of grade-schoolers," Krillin confirmed, nodding. "But we were prepared for it."

"Even Kienzan?!" Gohan asked, horrified. He imagined Goten and Trunks pitting two uncontrollable whirling blades of ki against each other and both emerging one arm and one leg the lesser for it.

"Oh! What's Kienzan?" Trunks asked.

"Yeah!" Goten joined in. "Is it a cool move?"

"Oh, no, boys, a Kienzan is this awful discipline technique that makes all the food you eat taste bad," Krillin lied, hiding the twinkle in his eye from everyone but Gohan. "It's really archaic. Master Roshi made me learn it as a kid as a prank. I'm not so mean that I'd subject you to it."

"Ugh!"

"I don't want to learn that!"

Gohan thanked his lucky stars that Krillin was as crafty as he was short, and then gently scooted the two boys away so he could kneel down. "Hi," he said to the pigtailed girl plastered to his shin. "My name is Gohan. It's nice to meet you, Marron!" He dug around in his pockets for the necklace he had bought her in town the day prior. Goten was originally supposed to bring it along with Eighteen's hostess gift, but Gohan had the foresight to know that his little brother would forget something so small. "I have a present for you!" He peeled Marron away and held out the tiny wrapped box to her.

She considered his kneeling posture for a moment and broke out into a big smile. "Are you gonna ask me to marry you?"

\---

Videl awoke to the sound of paparazzi and the media clamoring outside her house. Her father sat beside her bed.

"Did those thugs or Saiyaman do anything weird to you?!" He demanded.

"I doubt it," Videl said, remembering what little of Saiyaman's earnestly panicked words she could pick out as she wove in and out of consciousness. The rest of the day's humiliation rushed back to her soon after.

"I need to go beat the crap out of something," Videl said, brushing past her father and heading for the gym.

\---

The setting sun turned the Emerald sea golden white and spread its dying light onto the sand to dye it a soft pink. Gohan and Krillin sat on the front porch of Kame House and faced the view while the dark silhouettes of Goten and Trunks sent splashes of the gilded water at one another from the shallows. Marron slept in Gohan's lap, still convinced that the necklace she wore meant that the two of them were engaged.

"So why now?" Krillin asked his daughter's betrothed.

"Hm?" Gohan said, looking over. "Was it a bad time?"

Krillin shook his head. "No, no! Not at all. It's nice for Marron to have someone to play with beside myself, Turtle, and Eighteen. I just wanted to know why now. Goten's seven. I'd never even met him before and then you call me up yesterday to ask if he and Trunks can come over and play."

Gohan looked from Marron's sleeping face to his shoes. "I'm sorry we have not been closer. I think mom wasn't sure if," he turned around to make sure Eighteen and Roshi were not within earshot, "I think mom was afraid that Eighteen might have had some kind of latent anti-Goku programming that would make her try and kill Goten on sight. It took me some serious fast-talking to even get him out the door this morning even when mom had agreed the day before, and that's the whole reason Trunks came, too."

Krillin decided that the tragedy of the situation was that Chi Chi's fears were not totally unfounded. "That's all good and great and a total affront to me that you think my loving wife is all killing machine, but not the answer to my question."

"Sorry," Gohan said. "I guess, see, Goten has started asking about dad. I took him to meet Piccolo and Dende, and then I thought--"

"Woah! You made Chi Chi agree to introducing him to Piccolo? And you did that before coming to see me?! That's a low blow!"

Gohan winced.

Krillin patted his young friend on the back. "I'm kidding." Mostly. "So that's why I had two little monsters on my doorstep this afternoon. But not why I have you here, making me feel like an ant beholding a giant. You've gotten huge, dude! Is that why Chi Chi lets you go to school now? Because you're too big to hide up on that mountain anymore?"

Krillin was relieved to see Gohan smile a little at that. Goku's oldest always had taken mock teasing a little too harshly since his father's death. He had probably taken everything a little too seriously since then, actually. But Krillin knew something was wrong, and that Gohan had come specifically to talk with Krillin about it. That was why he was still sitting here at sunset instead of leaving for dinner, and why he was watching two little brats have all the fun of playing in the ocean without him.

Gohan held Marron in a more secure position. "Krillin, there's a cult called the Circle of the Inner Flame. Do you know anything about it?"

"I used to be an Oran Temple monk, not a whacked-out quasi-religious fanatic," Krillin said. "Sorry to disappoint you."

Gohan shook his head. "That's not what I mean. They can all use ki."

"Oh, what, you jealous that we're not the only ones anymore? Or are they actually trying to do something big and bad?" Krillin narrowed his eyes. "Or are you trying to say they are all stronger than me and I'm so pathetic that I should join?"

"What? No! That isn't even funny, Krillin!"

"Alright, alright. I'll stop. But," Krillin stuck out his tongue, "I'm still stronger than they are, right?"

Gohan had the stones to make a noise of disgust before he relented. "You're as bad as Goten. But yes, you make them all look like a joke, from what I could tell."

"What about Yamcha? Are they stronger than Yamcha?"

Instead of answering, Gohan trained a wide-eyed, eat-shit stare on Krillin.

"Chiaotzu?" Krillin fished. "Maybe Turtle? Please tell me they are at least stronger than Turtle."

"They worship the golden-haired "magicians" from the Cell Games," Gohan hissed, pointing to his own head, his voice just above a whisper.

"Oh," Krillin said. "Wow."

"There is also a pretty decent chance that they are looking for me to make me join," Gohan added. "They don't know who I am, but we had a... we had a small altercation over it, and even though I won, I don't think they are the kind of people to uphold an agreement."

Krillin nodded. "So. You're upset that you have people who potentially want to worship you. Okay."

"Krillin, I'm afraid these people could wreak some real havoc, okay? The kind I'm not prepared to handle."

"Like what? You saved the world, Gohan. Tell me one thing you can't do."

Krillin knew he had gone too far when Gohan picked up Marron and held her against his chest, like she would disappear if he let her go. "What happens if they take someone hostage to get to me? What if I go home and mom is, you know, just... gone?"

Eighteen opened the door behind them and took her sleeping daughter from Gohan. Krillin suspected that she had been listening to them both the whole time from the upstairs window.

"You go and get her back," Eighteen said, untying the first of her daughter's pigtails. "And you don't stop until you do."

\---

Terpsichore looked over the profiles of the Tenkaichi Budokai contestants from the past twenty years. Calliope had been kind enough to hunt down the files for him, but had not found the time to organize them in any way. 

They images and bios were all monks and monsters, or muscled men and women in gi. A few stood out as especially intriguing, like the lady in nothing but her underwear or the man with three eyes, but none of them were what he was looking for. 

Terpsichore hated paperwork. He rubbed his eyes and started on the next stack. An image of a boy with the darkest, messiest hair and biggest grin imaginable stared up at him. Terpsichore balked and read the brief.

_Son Goku_

_Nickname(s): Wild Boy, The Monkey King._

_Finalist in the twenty-first and twenty-second Tenkaichi Budokai, champion of the twenty-third. Has trashed the ring during his fights more frequently and more thoroughly than any other fighter in the history of the tournament._

The text went on, but Terpsichore stopped reading in favor of flipping to the next page of Son Goku's photographs. The boy in the white coat was his spitting image. Terpsichore felt sure of it.

He sent out a pulse of energy to summon for Calliope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final pairing- Gohan/Marron, everyone else go home. ;P just kidding.
> 
> Not much happens this chapter, and it also reiterates a little bit of what happened last chapter between Piccolo and Dende, but I felt the same conversation from Gohan's side was still important to see. That, and the fact that I have been chomping at the bit to be able to write a little bit of both Krillin and Eighteen. Nothing horribly exciting happened with them this chapter, but, like, I love them.
> 
> Hopefully this part didn't drag too bad, and everyone enjoyed Videl's Really Crappy Day because I did.  
> If it did drag too bad, suggestions are appreciated for how to make it... like, not.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	16. Supression

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vegeta seeks, and he finds.

The green land to the east of West City faded prematurely into colorless rock long before it reached the desert proper. Vegeta had never been one for nature, but he had been on enough genocide missions on uncivilized planets to be able to survey land well enough.

He halted in his midnight flight and stared down his nose at the Earth below. The moonlight cast a blue glow that the rocks and scatters trees reflected back up to the stars. Bulma would find it beautiful, Vegeta supposed. Perhaps he should take her here one night when he was not so out of sorts.

Normally, Vegeta did not subject himself to the outdoors without purpose. He had lived his life in space crafts of some form or another since birth and found artificial light more familiar than natural. He liked controlled environments. He liked sameness. Stability.

Vegeta had been raised being told, in one ear, that he was the mighty Prince of Saiyans, a warrior race with a heavenly mandate to destroy and conquer, and in the other ear, quieter, came the whisper that he was a pawn, a hostage, a destructive tool whose pride was a lie. He chose to listen to the first voice, and had done so for years. Even when Dodoria made a case for the reality of the Saiyans beneath the plateaus of Namek, the Prince adhered to the truth he wanted. Nothing changed.

Even Kakkarot- that infuriating, playful, forgiving, stupid, honorable man- did nothing to besmirch the Prince's beliefs. Kakkarot bested Vegeta, yes, and it enraged him daily, but Kakkarot also brought vengeance upon Frieza. Even if he had done so under the mantle of protector of the innocent, the Defender of the Earth, and the last damned ray of hope that Namek ever saw, Kakkarot had also been the pride of his people in that shining moment.

Vegeta had felt jealousy for his champion then. And when Kakkarot left this world, had chosen to leave this world, had blown off Vegeta for some Valhalla, the Prince had felt awe for Kakarrot, and shame in _himself_. But time had eroded the Prince's humility and something new had taken its place.

Now, he felt anger towards Kakkarot- anger, and that emotion he could not name that tagged on the heels of the wrath he felt when he remembered his father sending him aboard Frieza's ship. Vegeta's ambitions were empty now that he had no other Saiyan to best, no opponent to face, no other to share the love and the thrill of the fight with him.

Trunks was good, strong, brave, and as competitive as Vegeta could ever hope. His father took great pride in watching him train and grow. But the thought of sparring in earnest with him, little Trunks, his eight-year-old son? Something about the idea did not sit right with Vegeta. He could not understand why. He had done worse things to smaller children in the past.

He thought of Gohan and how young he was when Vegeta had smashed his fist into the boy's stomach on Namek for no real reason other than that the Prince thought the child looked pathetic. The boy had been, what, six? Vegeta did not know. Younger than Trunks. Weaker than Trunks. Certainly less of a Saiyan than even Kakkarot ever pretended to be.

Disgraceful boy. Vegeta wondered if he should have hit him harder, and more often. Son Gohan was supposed to fill in for his father as the protector of the innocent, Defender of the Earth, and the last damned ray of hope the planet would ever even need. More to the point, Gohan was supposed to be Vegeta's new champion and vassal. He should have come to his Prince after that day seven years ago- he should have come to train, to fight, to push Vegeta to be stronger, _better,_ until the heavens split asunder for them and Vegeta could flaunt his strength in Kakarrot's face.

But Kakkarot's son, that brat, he did not even thirst for battle. Not even when he was angry! Son Gohan the monster- that thing that came out when Gohan's human heart was broken and his mind was not quite his own- thirsted for superiority, for dominance, for blood. Pride meant nothing to him. Heritage was a joke. _That_ Gohan just wanted to watch how a face could change by teaching the heart the same fear the boy had known since the day he had learned Vegeta's name.

But still, Gohan should have learned to cast his flaws aside and embrace the Saiyan way like his father before him. It was demeaning to watch the boy try and be human, what with his diminished strength and skill, and Vegeta was tired of the isolated, uninterrupted stalemate he and his own pride had been locked in for seven long years.

A small ball of energy formed in Vegeta's hands. He rolled it around in his palms in tandem with the thoughts in his head.

Something about Gohan still unsettled Vegeta, though, even now the boy had softened. The Prince could not put his finger on what. The only sure thing was that Son Gohan was _not--!!_

The Prince threw the ball of energy into the ground. The resounding explosion was satisfying to watch.

Son Goten was proving better. The little child often came to visit with Trunks, and that frequently devolved into the two boys sparring or training together. Vegeta even begrudgingly felt secondhand pride in him, despite all the child's inherited idiosyncrasies and cluelessness. He pushed Vegeta's son- Goten's Prince- to be the best he could be, and thus, had great honor and showed deep fealty.

Vegeta floated down to stand on the surface of the sea of moonlight atop a nearby plateau. He crossed his arms and gazed at the sky.

Bulma was right about everything, like usual. Vegeta's obsession to prove himself better than Kakkarot- to show he was a worthy Prince for a worthy champion- spilled over and onto Trunks's life in ways it had no business to. Seven years had passed, and Vegeta still did not understand where he fit in on the Earth without Kakkarot acting as his anchor. It ate at him.

He fired another Gallic gunshot at a faraway cactus. Vegeta hated it when Bulma was right, because it meant admitting he was wrong.

And those new inventions of hers- if Bulma had not made them so fragile, Vegeta would not have broken them. It was all her fault, really!

He sniped a few more cacti. Maybe Vegeta should bring Bulma flowers, or wear that pink shirt she liked to see him wear. Perhaps he should go and buy her a new set of tools, or another table like the one he had broken the other day.

That was a poor idea. Buying things for Bulma was idiotic. It was her money he would be using, and she probably would not like whatever kind of trinket Vegeta picked out for her, anyway. She was particular about her baubles.

The Prince moved on to blasting small boulders to smithereens. The challenge was to try and focus all of his force on the rock itself, and not create a crater in the ground. It was all about control.

Vegeta had been under someone's thumb since before he could remember. He used to scheme about murdering Frieza from within his domain, while eating the food Frieza let him have, and wearing the armor Frieza let him wear. Vegeta was entitled to it, of course, as the Saiyan Prince, but it grated on his nerves to know his comforts were not his and his alone in ownership. Living off of Bulma's favor was not wholly different. 

The ghost of Vegeta's tail flicked back and forth. 

Saiyans rarely shared bonds with those they slept with. Vegeta was told humans were different, but had seen them act in the courtship traditions of Saiyans in those television programs Bulma and her mother would watch in the living room on Tuesday nights after his post-training shower.

One night stands, Bulma had called them, like the night of Trunks's conception. But Vegeta had decided since then that Bulma was his woman, so it was different now. His will dictated it to be so, and that was that.

He used his energy to levitate the shrapnel from his target practice into the air and send it hurtling around in circles across the arid land.

Did Bulma know that Vegeta had decided things were different than they had been before?

Vegeta split his dozens of rock shards into two groups- one moving clockwise, and the other counter-clockwise. This was a game he used to play with himself when he was waiting for Frieza's pick-up craft after a job, before he had his own pod. Back then, he could only manage five objects in each direction. It used to mesmerize Nappa that Vegeta could do it at all- Saiyan energies were not well suited to pseudo-telekinesis.

"That's very impressive."

Vegeta's rocks crashed into each other and crumbled along with his thoughts. He whirled around and found three humans sitting nonchalantly on the uneven sides of the plateau. One was a sharp-eyed man with green hair, the second a compact woman, and the other a thin girl with a huge smile on her face and a single, long braid. The blue moonlight hid whatever color it really was.

The three had snuck up on him without him even noticing. But how did he not sense them? Humans were notoriously unable to alter or suppress their energy's flow without training, small though it often was.

"Who are you? What do you want?" The Prince snapped.

The girl's ki suddenly increased dramatically. She was not untrained, apparently. The pebbles at her feet slowly lifted into the air and moved in steady revolutions around one another, and she used her hands to gently direct them towards Vegeta. The pirouetting rocks slowly circled around him and each other like a mobile, but without strings or wires.

"You'll have to excuse my young friend's lack of introduction," the man said, still sitting on his perch. "She cannot speak."

Vegeta looked to and from the three of them. He had half a mind to blow a ball of energy to the girl's rocks just to make them all go away.

The green haired man took in Vegeta's displeased expression. "She wants to play with you. There are so few of us in this world with understanding of the power within ourselves."

"I am a warrior," Vegeta said. "I do not play. Leave me and take your foolishness somewhere else."

The girl and the man shared a look. The woman snorted. "So did you shove one of those rocks from earlier up your ass, or what?"

"Thalia!" The man scolded.

The woman ignored her companion and continued addressing Vegeta. "Look, it's fun to watch you sit in the moonlight and think about your girlfriend or whatever, but we just came by to ask you a question. You don't have to be so rude about it."

Vegeta felt himself balk. How did they know he was thinking about his woman?

"Woah! It _was_ a girl! Totally! Had to be!" The woman slapped her male companion on the shoulder. "I was totally right! Look, look, Terps, he's blushing!"

Vegeta's sudden ki spike made his hair shoot up even more. "Shut up! You don't know anything! What kind of people sit in wastelands in the middle of the night, anyway?"

"You tell us, Romeo!"

The girl sent her spinning pebbles, now moving in the shapes of isolated hearts, in another revolution around Vegeta. He slapped them away and they scattered on the ground. "You puny insolents! I could crush you with a thought if I wanted to." And he could, but Bulma would not like it.

The woman gave a sidelong glance at her green haired companion, who looked as put out as the girl with the braid over the grounded rocks. "You still gonna ask your question, dancepants?" The woman asked.

Instead of answering her, the man stood and walked over to Vegeta. "Fine. Since you are so unpleasant, I will be direct. You are a martial artist, yes?"

Bah. Martial artist. So very mundane. His more accurate titles were Warrior Prince, Intergalactic Conquerer, Destroyer of Planets, and perhaps Legendary Saiyan. These plebeians could not hope to grasp the significance, though, so he kept it to himself. "What's it to you?" The Prince asked, crossing his arms. 

"That's a yes," the woman clarified from the background. "Nobody that rude and smug about the topic could be anything else. So we'll chalk this whole encounter up as another justification for your total disdain for my kind, Terps."

The man, apparently called Terps, waved a hand over his shoulder to silence his mouthy companion and then summoned the one who never spoke. The girl trotted forward dutifully and reached into her pocket for a folded piece of paper. Terps took it from her and handed it to Vegeta. "Have you ever seen this man before?"

Vegeta sized up his interrogators. They were not worth his time- the woman in particular, the one who dared put the Prince in the same category as her, had almost no ki whatsoever. Perhaps they would leave if he humored them. He opened the paper and looked down at it in disdain.

\---

Trunks rubbed his eyes on his way to the bathroom. He had snuck five whole cans of orange soda to his room and guzzled them all down before he went to bed- Goten had bet ten zeni that Trunks's resulting pee would be orange, and half-past midnight was apparently the time to find out who was right.

For a moment, Trunks considered preparing photographic evidence of the results, but he figured that Goten would believe whatever Trunks said anyway. In fact. Trunks probably had not needed to go to the trouble of drinking the five cans of orange soda at all. He could have just claimed the prize by lying.

Trunks shuffled past his mom and dad's room. Vegeta's energy was absent, but that was not entirely uncommon. Usually, he went to the gravity room, but sometimes he left the city entirely. 

Trunks opened his senses. After a moment, he felt echoes of his father's energy far to the east. Vegeta was near the desert tonight.

The boy sighed in relief as he made it to the toilet.

He had never asked his father about his sojourns before- Vegeta was not an easy man to approach, and he liked to keep his business private. Once, though, Trunks had asked his mother why Vegeta would wander in the night so often.

"He's trying to fight demons," she had said. "Or he's looking for something. It's hard to tell the difference. Either way, he still gets back in time to hog the shower in the morning so I wouldn't worry about it." Trunks had done his best to follow his mother's advice.

He finished his business and stared down the toilet bowl at it. Trunks grinned. Goten officially owed him money.

Trunks hoped his father's discoveries were as favorable.

\---

Calliope watched the man as he looked over the picture of Son Goku. His face was impassively disgusted at first glance, but his eyes darkened just a little and the Flame inside of him flickered _outside_ of him and fluctuated between anger, excitement, and pain. It was very controlled and subtle, but unmistakeable to someone like Calliope. She spoke the language of the Inner Flame better than anyone and could understand the energies within others intuitively.

"I don't know this person," the man said. He tore the picture in half and lit a sphere of Flame in his hand to incinerate the two pieces. "Now leave me."

Calliope could feel Terpsichore's normally patient aura pulse with annoyance. He hated being made light of, and he especially hated martial artists that took to the Inner Flame so easily. They had a habit of looking down upon Terpsichore's graceful philosophies and talents.

"Truly?" Terpsichore asked. "Not even in a history book, or as a celebrity on a billboard you once saw in passing?" Calliope's teacher had picked up on this stranger's bluff, too. She signaled her approval to him with her energy.

"You think that face was advertisement material? Perhaps for a circus," the man said.

"You speak harshly for someone with the same kind of odd hair and surreal black eyes. Surely there is some relation between the two of you."

The mysterious man's energy was deeply offended, and then suddenly amused, like he knew a joke that they did not. "You think we're related based on how you think I look? With no other evidence? Humanity should be so proud that its finest can successfully sleuth my identity out because that clown and I both have black hair and eyes. _Please_. He and I are vastly different breeds."

"Wow, so the hair color is a red herring," Thalia said in the background. "That's, like, exactly what I told you he'd say, Terps. It's like having déjà vu all over again, huh, Callie?"

Calliope sent a wave of caution to Thalia while her teacher exhaled deeply and held eye contact with the black haired stranger. The girl took a minute to compare the two men- Terpsichore, standing light and sure on his feet beneath his streamlined áo the, and this unnamed and unkind one with his grounded, confident, and short build. His jeans and loose bomber jacket could not hide that he was a tightly coiled spring of muscle ready to tear loose at any moment. Calliope idly wondered if she should use Leader Erato's trick to try and make the stranger relax before her teacher inadvertently started a fight with him. Then again, maybe this haughty warrior was incapable of peace, like he would fall apart if he was not constantly bunching himself in knots. Maybe it was like Thalia had said earlier, while they were watching him brood- relaxing might actually destroy him.

"I know you are lying, sir," Terpsichore pushed. "I only want to learn if this man has any family and where they might be. I do not mean to start a fight."

"Family? Oh, like me? Superficially similar beings?" The man crossed his arms and laughed. "I'm sure you can find plenty of black-haired people in West City. Surely someone as clever as you doesn't need my help. And," the stranger moved his arms by his sides and bent his knees and elbows ever so slightly, "who ever said that you even had the ability to put up a fight against someone like me?"

What Terpsichore lacked in warrior's prowess, he more than made up for in backbone."I am not looking to provoke you. In fact, I'd love to let this encounter be over and leave you to your musings. I am only interested in finding someone I believe to be Son Goku's son. You, I would be just as happy never knowing a thing about." 

The man's black eyes grew bright with fury and, for a moment, his black hair looked like it took the cool light of the moon and wove it into something hotter. His Inner Flame swelled and snapped at Terpsichore and Calliope almost wondered if this man was one of those blessed enough to be kissed by the sun. The sensation eased off as quickly as it came, though, and the stranger's hair returned to a black that rejected all the cast the moon tried to dye it with. "You'd blow me off for Kakkarot's third-rate wretch?" He hissed.

Terpsichore, of course, barreled through the danger before him in pursuit of his goal. "So you know Son Goku well enough to give him a nickname. If you cooperate with us, I will ask that those I represent refrain from causing you and yours any more involvement in this matter between myself and my person of interest. Now, is Son Goku perhaps your martial arts master, and--"

Calliope could barely follow the punch the man threw at Terpsichore's stomach. In fact, it was not until she saw Thalia's intercepting hand hold the stranger's fist away from her teacher that Calliope even realized what had happened.

"Pay attention next time 'cause I just saved your life," Calliope heard Thalia mumble to Terpsichore.

"Master?!" Roared the stranger, hurling his other fist at Terpsichore, faster than the first. Thalia still caught it. "You insolent--!" He twisted his arms to throw her to the side and free his hands, but Thalia used the momentum to swing herself around behind him and pin one of his arms to his back.

"Easy there, lover boy!"

"Just for this, I think I really _will_ kill you all!" The stranger growled, ripping his arm free with an insane ignition of hidden Inner Flame. Thalia flew like a fired cannonball into the side of a separate plateau, and it collapsed on top of her in a mountain of rubble. Then, the stranger focused a sinister ball of energy at the whole mess her impact had created, and fired. He generated and shot another, and then another, and another, and kept adding more until the blue of the moonlight was chased away by the gold of the Inner Flame shooting from his hands. Calliope gaped. The man with the black hair wasted so much energy, and so casually!

Terpsichore's hands glowed purple with Erato's Twin Fangs technique and he thrust them at the enraged stranger. The black haired man, for his part, did not spare a glance at Terpsichore or even halt his golden barrage in the fallen Thalia's direction. He relegated the auric onslaught to one hand instead of two and used the other to catch the wrist of the Fang poised for his neck out of the air. He kicked the second away before it found his ribs, and Terpsichore shrieked as his right arm bent backwards from the force of the stranger's foot. 

Since getting close would only succeed in putting Calliope in as poor a position as Terpsichore, she forced a wall of wind and sand at the stranger. The man stopped shooting blasts of Flame altogether and instead sliced the incoming wind in two with a chop from the side of his hand. The gust parted around him and Terpsichore was hit with the brunt of half the redirected force.

Calliope bit her tongue in unspoken apology to her teacher, rolled left, and sent more winds at their unimpressed opponent. Terpsichore tried to swipe at the stranger's legs with his own, but only succeeded in getting his shin shattered when the man holding his wrist captive intercepted and returned the blow. The man then split all of Calliope's winds like he had the first, and Terpsichore suffered.

"Is this the best you can do? I've already broken your green haired friend here, and I don't sense anything from your other companion. Not that she was much to begin with." The man sneered. "I'm getting bored."

What this stranger did not know was that Thalia locked away her energy to remain undetectable in situations like this intentionally, not because she was weak. She had no real useable Inner Flame to speak of and that oddity is exactly what made her frightening.

Calliope saw Thalia leap back onto the top of their battlefield plateau, both middle fingers brandished and glowing, from over the stranger's shoulder. The girl took the dual gestures as her signal to change tactics and stop acting as a distraction. She mustered up a ball of Inner Flame and sent it towards their opponent.

The black eyed man grinned and, rather than swat the pearl of energy away, thrust Terpsichore in front of himself to absorb the attack. Calliope was well aware that the man's frivolous tactic was to ensure her teacher took this blow rather than a true defense, and decided that she hated the ruthless warrior.

Thalia moved in close and struck the stranger in the back with her own version of the Twin Fangs in seven places along his spine. The man's Inner Flame suddenly disappeared and Thalia spirited away Terpsichore when his captor dropped him in surprise.

"What--?!"

Calliope's blast hit its intended target in the face, and he flew into the ground and skidded backwards. The earth cried out a fine mist of dirt at the impact.

"What did you do to me?!" The stranger screamed from within the cloud of dust. Calliope could tell he was trying and failing to form his Flame into destructive pearls. Thalia had sealed him. His energy attacks were impossible to perform now.

A part of Calliope entertained the idea of maiming this man the same way he had done to Terpsichore, but she decided it was not worth it to lower herself to his level. Instead, she hurried over to where Thalia was gently arranging Terpsichore's beaten body.

"Hey! Come back here!" Shouted the stranger. Calliope ignored him.

\---

Piccolo was not sure if Gohan's sudden appearance brought more relief to himself or Dende. The Guardian had been worrying himself sick over the boy this whole week and it had almost driven Piccolo out of his mind and off the Lookout.

"I can't stay long," Gohan said. "I just wanted to check in with Dende about something really quick."

Piccolo snorted. "That's fine. Any amount of time is fine. Just make him stop spying on humanity for at least five seconds."

\---

Terpsichore groaned at the stars that danced in front of his eyes every time Thalia jostled his arm and leg. She had been smart enough to move him to a different plateau than the one where the man who maimed him stood screaming, but Terpsichore personally felt that an entire universe would not have been far enough away.

The wind dancer berated himself in his head. It has been his bright idea to pursue the Inner Flame they had felt burning just outside the city despite Thalia's warnings. Its owner, she had said, was pernicious and temperamental. And she would know- Thalia made it a point to familiarize herself with all the notable Inner Flames of the area as both a leader and one of the two premier martial artists in the West City Circle. She was not only skilled, but one of the few skilled martial artists Terpsichore could stand to be around.

"Don't ignore me!" The cruel fighter shouted from the center of his plateau. He leapt forwards to fly into the air and fell flat on his face when his Inner Flame failed to come forth and propel him. "Augh!" He shouted, and punched the ground. " _Augh!_!" The man cried again, holding his knuckles when they complained from making a small dent in the earth. He glared at Thalia accusingly. " _AUGH!_ " 

"I've sealed your energy, you sadistic ass," Thalia called over her shoulder. "So you can still break stuff real good, but you can't generate anything to reinforce your muscles or shield yourself from the backlash. Or fly. Or shoot shit." She shrugged. "You gotta rely on only the purely physical."

"It's a good thing I don't need my energy to beat you into a fine pulp, you foolish slime! You overstep your bounds!" The man growled and leapt forwards again, this time relying on only his leg strength to take him where he wanted to go. He cleared the distance between himself and the edge of his plateau in one long stride, and then pushed off its uneven perimeter to reach where Terpsichore and his companions were.

As Thalia blocked and redirected the stranger's nigh-unseen oncoming blows, Terpsichore admitted to himself that he had indeed bit off more than he could chew.

"Give me my ki back, you stupid woman!" Hissed the cruel man.

"What have you done today to make me even think that could ever be a good idea?" Thalia scoffed. "Hell, have you ever done anything redeeming in your life, or have you been a selfish, spoiled brat for all of forever?"

The man occupied both of Thalia's hands with his fists and threw his knee towards her stomach. She deflected it to the side with her own, and released one of her opponent's hands to punch him in the stomach while he was caught off-balance. He reeled and she let him go. The man backed up a few steps and held his abdomen.

"You've lead with that same pattern of punches twice, now. Are you fighting for real, or are you just letting out your feelings?" Thalia crossed her arms.

"It took the full efforts of three of you just to survive this long, and you still had to stoop to sabotaging my ki because you couldn't keep up," the man said. "And you have the nerve to mock me!"

Thalia sighed. "When's the last time you've even left the Capsule Corps complex?"

Terpsichore's ears perked up. Thalia had not been so kind as to inform him or Calliope of any details about this man. She had only mentioned that she knew enough about him and his energy signature to leave him be.

"So you've been spying on me?" The stranger accused.

"When you get something shoved up your crack about something else, all of West City feels it. Your location is no real secret."

"Oh? And were you too scared to just come ask me to turn down my energy? You thought cornering me in the wilderness was a better plan." The man snickered. "How very neighborly of you."

"Myself and those I represent found it prudent to not come knocking at your door and risk pissing off not only you, but the single most powerful and well-connected corporation on the planet." 

The man laughed. "Well. It's refreshing to know that someone is smart enough to fear the Saiyan Prince."

Thalia shrugged. "Dunno if you've noticed or not, but you are currently bent over and holding your stomach. I'm not exactly quaking in my boots here. We were more concerned about Capsule Corp than your ego. Sorry to burst your bubble."

Terpsichore legitimately thought the noise the stranger made was that of a wild animal kept in a cage too long. He closed his eyes and prayed Thalia knew what she was doing- Terpsichore had already landed them all in enough trouble without further provocation of this dangerous man.

"I'll fix that sass mouth!" The stranger snapped, and tried once again to call forth his Inner Flame with a scream.

All he accomplished was hurting the ears of everyone around him and straining his own throat.

"Stop." Thalia held up her hand. "You just sound constipated".

The man, now sporting a bulging vein in his forehead and neck, straightened himself out and stamped his foot. "I am Vegeta, Prince of Saiyans! I will not stand for this! I will not be humiliated by you Earthlings and your cowardly tricks!" He charged Thalia again and faked left before circling right behind her and throwing a fist at her head.

She whirled around and blocked it, but Vegeta surprised her with a follow-up jab to the torso. Thalia answered by grabbing the hand planted in her ribs, pulling Vegeta close, and slamming him in the forehead with her own. She thrust her knee back into the place in his abdomen where her fist had hit earlier.

"Hey, lover boy," Thalia gasped out as they stumbled out of one another's reach, "How long has it been since you had a real fight with a live opponent?"

Vegeta did not have anything clever to spit out at her this time, but his expression spoke volumes for him. "...Give me back my energy," he finally said.

"No, seriously, how long? You're probably really something when you are in practice! You're ruthless!" Thalia held a hand to her side. "You got me, and it frickin' hurt!"

"Stop mocking me!" Vegeta screamed and aimed for her other set of ribs with his knuckles. Thalia sidestepped out of their trajectory, grabbed Vegeta's outstretched arm, and spun him around in a circle before letting him loose to fly off the side of the plateau.

"You're getting mad and it's making you sloppy," she called after him. "I was gonna unlock your Inner Flame again, but I think it'll do you good to figure it out on your own and be forced to work on your basic hand-to-hand with another person in the meantime, so I'm just going to leave you as you are."

Terpsichore's arm and leg were throbbing, and his left wrist was turning blue from where Vegeta had gripped it. "Thalia," he called, "let us leave. I concede- you were right. This was a bad idea."

Thalia sent a small smile his way and stuck out her tongue. "Actually? I don't want to give you any more crap about this anymore. I'm kind of having fun. And this has been really informative. This guy- his ki, it's huge when he lets it loose. Like, stupid huge. Maybe bigger than his ego." Thalia was born a martial artist. She used the Circle terms and those of her discipline interchangeably. "I'm kind of really actually sorta totally a little bit extremely, _very_ glad we came to find him. I never really knew how to approach this guy 'cause I didn't want to start a bunch of shit. But now that we have, I think I might even be able to recruit him, given enough time."

Calliope expressed severe disapproval to Thalia from where she kneeled by her teacher.

"Aw, c'mon, Callie, Terpsichore also has a bad temper and the tendency to have his head up his ass about stuff, too, but look how much you love him!"

The wind dancer was not in the mood for Thalia's antics. "I become obstinate about the value of my art, not myself."

"Oh yeah? Explain this little vendetta mission we're going to the Tenkaichi Budokai for again, then."

Terpsichore knew she was baiting him and ignored her. "In case you forgot, Thalia, I am lying here in extreme pain, and I do not enjoy watching you toy with a man who radiates--"

Vegeta shot back up past the top of the plateau, somersaulted in the air, and landed in front of Thalia. "I earn my strength myself. I do not rely on others to teach me like some snot-nosed brat who can't hold his own in a fight without crying scared to his daddy," he seethed, rising to his full height. "You patronize me now, but you have no idea how costly of a mistake you have made."

Thalia blinked. "You were standing here, bored, and itching for an opponent so badly that you were blowing up cacti and boulders before Terpsichore called you out. You know, before the girl thoughts and the floating rocks happened. It was obvious. Don't feed me that bull crap like you don't agree with me."

The wind blew gently to try and help the ocean of moonlight cool Vegeta's fury. "Don't act like you know who I am and what I think! You are unworthy!" He charged forward yet again, but the soft wind suddenly turned demanding and Terpsichore knew it was now acting on Calliope's will.

The gusts swept Vegeta's feet out from under him and then pushed him to the ground face-first. 

With a few quick pulses of energy, Calliope scolded Thalia. Continuing the fight would be selfish and pointless. 

Thalia pouted and walked over to Terpsichore. "We'll meet again, Vegeta. You can stay mad all you want, but think about what I said rather than just throw a tantrum about it, okay?" Terpsichore made no secret of his discomfort as Thalia hoisted him into her arms. The martial artist was much shorter than him and the thought of how the two of them must look made Terpsichore feel all the more pathetic.

Vegeta struggled to his feet and shrugged off the pressing winds. "Don't you dare--!" 

Calliope cut him off by making the winds propel her swift, flying kick into his stomach. It was in the same spot Thalia had hit the man twice before, and Terpsichore knew Calliope had not targeted him there by coincidence.

Vegeta's knees hit the ground and he gagged. Calliope sent forth more winds to knock him off the plateau once more with finality. After a casual glance and sensory pulse to ensure that Vegeta was not getting back up any time soon, the girl signed to Thalia that they were leaving.

Thalia reluctantly obeyed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Vegeta. I love him bunches. I mean, I love the whole cast, but... Yeah. But this is pre-Majinn Vegeta, before he has his big character arc with finality.
> 
> Also, we have never seen him a good mood this whole story, so he's been more childish than usual. But, yeah, he's very important later so I feel it is justified to give him a whole chapter.


	17. The Gotenkaichi Budokai Begins!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our friends in Dragon World seem to have a bit of a situation on their hands.
> 
> Also, Gohan might be dealing drugs and Videl might be involved in terrorist activities.

The temple on Papaya Island was much bigger than Trunks had imagined it would be based on his mother's descriptions, and every square inch of it was packed with people. He had escaped with Goten into the shade of the contestant's pavilion when the hubbub proved too much for the younger boy, and was currently scanning the audience from behind the partition screen that separated the pavilion from the ring.

Trunks's father had not come home last night, and the boy could not sense his energy anywhere. Was Vegets not going to watch his son compete?

"I'm sure your dad is up there," Goten said. Trunks's best friend was perceptive when he wanted to be. "Maybe he's hiding his energy so he doesn't make people nervous, like Krillin told us to do."

"Maybe," Trunks said, uncertain. "But it's no big deal. We're stuck here in the kiddie leagues so it's not like we'll face any real competition- like you said, Krillin said to mask our energy until the finals. It's more like a joke, if you ask me. I don't blame my dad for being late. It's gonna be lame."

Goten ignored the bravado of Trunks's dismissal. "Gohan didn't come home last night, either, but I know he's gotta be here. He said he was gonna meet some girl or something he knew. Hey! Maybe your dad and your mom are sitting with my family right now! And then maybe your dad went to get something Bulma forgot at your house." Trunks's weak nod watered down Goten's enthusiasm. "Or, um, maybe he found a whole warehouse full of ice cream on the way over here and wanted to eat it all before it melted. And then got a stomachache."

"...Yeah."

Goten frowned and looked around the room. He brightened when he discovered a distraction staring directly at him. "Let's go talk to that girl. She has white hair! Maybe she's some kinda fairy or something."

Trunks let Goten lead him by the arm over to where a girl of about ten or eleven stood against the wall, eyeing both of them and twiddling her long, thick braid in her hands.

"Hi! I'm Goten. This is Trunks. What's your name? Are you from around here? Is this your first tournament? Are the other opponents strong? What's your favorite food? Do you, uh, use, um, physical attacks only or do you know any energy ones like we do? Like, Kamehameha?"

"Goten! You don't _tell_ people all about your special moves!" Trunks said.

The girl looked between the two of them intently, cocked her head, and then began making gestures in the air. Goten's eyes glazed over. 

His smile was still radiant, though. "I don't know what fighting style those moves you just did are from," Goten said, "but they looked cool!"

Trunks huffed. "That was sign language, you big dummy. She can't talk."

"Oh," said Goten, looking at the girl in amazement. "Wow! You must be really good at that "whoever says something first loses" game my mom likes to play!"

Trunks thwacked him on the head. "Goten!" He chided. "I'm really sorry. My friend was raised in the wilderness. He can't tell his butt from a hole in the ground sometimes," Trunks told the girl.

"Yes, I can!" Goten argued.

"We're really, really sorry. Um, we'll stop bothering you now." Trunks grabbed his friend and turned around to leave.

The girl reached out and tapped them both on the shoulder. Trunks felt the strangest sensation emanate from her hand- it was as if her touch sent waves of stasis through his entire body. Then, the wind around his ears breezed by ever so slightly and whispered for them to stay.

The two boys fought down goosebumps and obeyed the disembodied voice. Slowly, they craned their heads back around to look again at the girl with the white hair.

She formed a ball of softly glowing energy in her hands, and blew into it. The sound that her ki and breath generated had one pitch, no inflection, and was very soft. "I am Calliope," it said. "I use little energy, but I can do things with it you've never thought to do." Calliope inhaled a few times, and Trunks could tell that this kind of communication was difficult for her. "But tell me more about you."

\---

Sevoya glanced over at Gohan as he let out a terrific yawn. He was so tired that he had not even noticed the way her father glared daggers at him every time he moved.

"Did you have a layover, or, like, a really early flight?" She asked.

"Huh? Yeah, I started flying over here from the Lookout pretty early," he said. "I-In a plane! I flew here in a plane very early this morning. Yup!"

Sevoya smiled as he stuttered. "I honestly find it incredible that you actually agreed to come, or that you could even find a flight over here so late." She twiddled the ends of her skirt. "Thank you."

Hass leered at Gohan from over his daughter. "How'd your parents feel about you coming all the way out here all by yourself on a school day, young man?"

"Oh, actually, sir, my mom was-" Gohan sat straight up on the bleachers. " _Mom._ Oh. Oh! _Ohhhh no._ I completely forgot!" He leapt to his feet, suddenly wired. "I will be right back," he said, and dashed away.

The roar of the crowd and the menagerie of faces in the stands eventually hid Gohan from Sevoya and her father as the boy journeyed farther and farther away from them.

"He's jittery and suspicious. I don't like him," Sevoya's father said.

Sevoya rolled her eyes. "Papa, you don't like _anyone_ I bring to meet you."

"And you like everyone," Hass mumbled.

Sevoya shrugged. This avenue of conversation was one they both frequented. "I take what I can get. Kind of like how you still wanted to go to this Tournament even though Hercule Satan's face is plastered all over the whole thing."

Hass stiffened and lowered his voice. "This is not the best place to discuss our feelings about that. But even so, it's the world we live in now. We can't escape it." He shook his head. "This is as close as I'll ever get to remembering my life before your mother passed away, Mister Satan or no."

Sevoya hated how her father shied away from the reality of her mother's suicide. She forced a smile at him and tried to redirect the conversation. "Oh, please. You just keep hoping you'll see your fantasy girlfriend fighter again, but this time _you'll_ be the one asking her to get married, not that other guy."

Hass laughed. "No, no, I wouldn't take the Anonymous Fighter from the man she loves. And actually, I keep hoping that he will show up in the ring again almost more so than her." His eyes grew misty. "The Monkey King, Tripitaka, the Wolf, the Desert Warrior, Jackie Chun... Even cruel Three-Eyes became someone to root for." He shook his head. "Sev, you would have loved the old Tenkaichi Budokai. They fought for the love of the sport, and for the fun of it."

Sevoya's father romanticized these tournaments too much. "So all the old Tenkaichi Budokai were peachy keen?" From her perspective, there was nothing good about them. Each one had become progressively more lethal and all acted as catalysts to thrust bystanders- and eventually the whole planet- into danger. Really, the Cell Games should have been the straw that broke the camel's back and put a damper on the Tenkaichi Budokai forever. Alas, the man who purportedly defeated Cell and saved the world decided to endanger it once again by personally ensuring the tradition was kept alive. "What about the one with Piccolo Majunior? You know, where he _blew up_ the whole place?"

Hass put a huge hand on his daughter's back. "Sevoya, don't be like that. Let's have fun, okay? Can you do that for me?"

"I dunno. Can you not insult my friend?"

Hass crossed his dark arms and made no promises. "Seriously, how can a high school kid afford a flight from Satan City to Papaya Island during prime traffic season with barely four days' notice?"

"Papa," Sevoya tried.

"Sevoya, think about it. His eyes were all red and puffy, and then, when he stopped laying all over the bleachers like a sack of potatoes, he got all out of sorts and shaky, and ran off. He's probably off dealing and doing another dose of whatever he's got on him right now."

"Papa," she bit her lip and tried to sound serious.

Hass, however, was completely sincere. "I mean it! It's gotta be drugs, Sevoya."

Sevoya snorted. She couldn't help it. "Gohan Son? A hardened addict and dealer? That's almost as funny as the people at school saying he's Saiyaman."

Hass grunted. "I'm sure when he reappears, he'll be as blazed as a bonfire on April twentieth. He probably even--"

"Sorry about that," Gohan said, reappearing next to Sevoya with a train of people at his heels. The first of them was the largest man Sevoya had ever seen, and she could only pick out bits and pieces of others from behind his huge frame. "I hope you don't think I'm too rude. I had to go find my--"

The Anonymous fighter herself, twenty years older and in a different cheongsam than the one Sevoya and her father were most familiar with, pushed herself to the front of Gohan's little crowd and stuck out her hand. "Hello! It's so nice to meet you, Sevoya! I'm Chi Chi. Have you and my son set a date for the wedding yet?"

\--- 

Videl punched the couch inside the Champion's lounge. She loved her father, but sometimes, she also really _hated_ him!

The trouble had all started when Videl's mother died and Mark Satan stopped training his daughter. At the time, Videl had assumed it was a sign of grief, but as the years passed, he began to spend his days almost exclusively with media types and exotic women. Videl almost never saw him anymore. And now, her father had forbidden her from competing in the adult division of the Tenkaichi Budokai. What would he do next, take away her communicator and leave Satan City's safety entirely to Saiyaman and the police?

"It's _dangerous_ , sweetheart," she mocked Mark Satan's deep voice and kissed a pillow with her fist. "That cult tried to kidnap you because you're _famous_!" She glared at the shelves of martial arts and wrestling trophies adorning the walls. "It's not safe for celebrities to make such _risky public appearances_!"

Then, he had traipsed off to go meet his public and do exactly what he had banned her from doing. That stupid, arrogant, hypocritical show-off! Forget his inspirational story of heroism! That happened _seven years ago_ , and did not give him the right to do whatever he wanted and ignore his daughter. 

Still, Videl knew Mark Satan was a great man and loving father. All he needed was to be knocked off the pedestal he put himself on. Right?

Videl hoped he would lose the tournament. That would sure be a good wake-up call. But, more than that, she wanted to be the one to best him! That was the whole point of her entry!

Videl snarled at the reinforced windows and glared at the door. Her father had hired four men to stand guard on the other side and keep her safely isolated. She was insulted that he thought four would be enough. 

Unfortunately, breaking out of the lounge and competing was not so straightforward a task as winning a brawl- Videl also needed to think about how she would make it through the preliminaries and the tournament itself without being discovered and detained again. Four unconscious men lying in the hallway right outside the door was not exactly incognito.

She considered dragging them into the lounge and hiding them after she knocked them out, but the absence of guards would be just as much of a giveaway as the presence of obviously incapacitated ones.

Videl flopped down on the beaten couch and chewed on her thumb while she thought about what to do.

A sudden draft brought Videl's attention to the air duct in the ceiling. The vent plate was gone, and a woman with short hair peered down through the open hole at her.

Videl shrieked and threw one of her father's many trophies at the stranger above. The woman silently caught it and somehow made it from her perch to Videl's side faster than the girl could follow. The woman then shoved the trophy into Videl's mouth and immobilized Videl's hands. 

"I'm not here to spy on you or hurt you," the woman said. "Not really, and not today, anyway. Just listen to what I have to say before you start screaming bloody murder." She released Videl when the girl stopped struggling and removed the tiny golden Hercule Satan from her mouth.

"You're not here to hurt me _today_?" Videl asked.

The woman scowled. "Totally not the point, okay? You want something, and my associate wants something. Let's make a deal."

Videl took a defiant stance. "Oh, yeah? Like what kind of deal?"

"I help you go and compete in the Tenkaichi Budokai, and in return, you do a little something about the tournament's media programming schedule for me."

"Why would you want me to do that? You're a Circle terrorist, aren't you! Well, I'm not planting one of your bombs, you psycho!" Videl opened her mouth to scream for help.

The woman wedged the trophy back between Videl's teeth with more force than the first time. "First of all, it's got nothing to do with bombs. Second, don't you dare insult me again. I won't stand for it. Not from you."

Videl pulled the trophy out of her mouth and swung a punch. She hit open air. The woman had vanished.

She reappeared behind Videl and put a hand over the girl's mouth. Then, she pulled Videl close. "Listen here, you little turd. I hate your father with a blinding passion, but I don't have my head shoved so far up my ass to think that bombing this tournament or your little namesake city will change the world. There is more than one Circle, for your information, and we all operate a little differently." The woman shoved Videl onto the couch. "I have absolutely no intention of killing anyone."

"Bullcrap. And I don't need your help," Videl spat. "I can get out of here just fine on my own." She omitted the fact that staying out was more the problem.

The woman put her hands on her hips and considered the guarded door. "You know, the sad part is that you probably could, if you had only those guys to contend with. But you don't. You've gotta go through me, too." She tilted her head to look down at Videl. The way the light hit the woman's brown eyes made them appear red. "I guess this is turning into an ultimatum rather than a deal- do this thing for me, or else I will make sure that you don't enter that tournament, ever."

"Oh, I'm real scared." Videl's mock smile transformed into a sincere frown. "There's a terrorist in here! She's trying to kidnap me!" She shouted to the door.

The men outside laughed. "Of course, Miss Satan!"

The woman snickered.

"Not that I need help taking care of the situation, but it would have been nice of you to try and actually do your job of keeping me safe," the girl muttered under her breath. 

Again, the woman gave an annoying chuckle. "Their job, huh?" She was really starting to get on Videl's nerves.

The girl leapt to her feet and settled into a fighting stance. "Go ahead and do your worst, lady."

"Your very best isn't even good enough for my very worst. Quit goading me before I really do decide to teach you a thing or two and show you how much of a lie your life is," the woman said.

"Stop stalling and prove you're as tough as you say you are," Videl taunted. "Or are you scared?"

The woman's short red hair expanded like the feathers on the chest of an angry swan. "Blab all you want, missy. I know exactly how strong you are, and exactly how strong I am. I also know that you're not too keen on making the first move in combat, and you aren't used to fighting someone almost as small as you."

She was not wrong about Videl's fighting style. The girl strengthened her stance and sized up her opponent- this woman was short and stocky, and held herself like she had the skills to back up her talk. Still, if they started a fight and things went south, Videl felt sure that all she needed to do was make enough of a racket to convince the men outside that she needed help.

But considering that the key word here was _convince_ , not something straightforward like _tell_ , Videl found the idea of single-handedly apprehending this terrorist and personally presenting her to The World Champion to be a much more appealing scenario than begging for assistance from a bunch of boneheads who thought she was crying wolf.

The Champ's daughter defending herself while the people meant to guard her proved incompetent morons- what a way to rub her independence in her father's face _that_ story would be!

Videl charged towards her opponent, but tripped and fell on her face when a knock on the door broke the tension.

"Ugh. And I was so close." The Circle woman nonchalantly leapt back into the air duct she came from. "No, no, Thalia, let's do it _my_ way," she muttered, putting the vent back into place. "It doesn't matter that you think you won't need my help- I'm a dancer and I know eeeeeeverything."

Videl blinked from where she knelt on the ground, bewildered, as the door opened. A man with green hair entered the room with assistance from the door guards.

"Uh," said Videl, splitting her attention between the ceiling and the door.

The man's right arm was in a sling and his left held a crutch to support his weight in place of his broken left leg. "Hello, Miss Satan," he said. "I know I don't look like much, but I was hoping for a little of your time."

"Um, well," she said, collecting herself, "the thing is... I don't know who you are, but, see, I'm sort of in the middle of a situation right now and it could, uh, get dangerous. If you want an autograph or picture or something, it might be better if you try again another time?"

"It's very considerate of you to be concerned with my well-being, Miss Satan." The man hobbled forward and the door opened once more.

Videl's four guards strode into the room, followed by the Circle woman with the red hair. She shut it behind her with an authoritative click and leaned against it with crossed arms.

The man with the green hair smiled. "It's very considerate, indeed, but I don't think I have anything to worry about. And neither do you, if you do as we ask."

\---

A giant blimp suspended above the arena blocked out most of the sky and the audience surrounded Goten like the walls of a deep well he could not climb out of. He felt trapped as he stood in the center of the bleached tile ring and endured the stares raining down on him from all directions.

The blonde announcer addressed the crowd enthusiastically. "Our next match-up is between little Son Goten and Thomas Sawyer! Can you tell us a little about yourselves before we begin, boys?" The announcer sent the mic in Thomas's direction, but his dark sunglasses could not hide the stare he fixed exclusively on Goten. 

"I'm Tom," the other boy said. "I love gettin' into scrapes, so m'aunt reckoned I oughta practice martial arts to try and direct m'energy into somethin' more constructive."

"Oh, really?" Said the announcer, his attention still on Goten.

The youngest Son looked around and found Trunks and Calliope watching him from atop the front wall of the contestant's pavilion wall. Trunks signaled a thumbs-up, and Goten's stage fright lessened.

Tom's voice rang out across the arena once again. "My master made me learn my moves by whitewashin' fences." He settled himself into a fighting stance and moved his arms in a fluid, practiced motion. "Wash on, wash off," he chanted, and grinned.

"Maybe you can come paint my house after the tournament is over." The audience chuckled and the announcer directed the mic towards Goten. "What about you, son?"

Goten stared hard at the audience. He had never spoken in front of so many people before. "Uh," he said, "my name's Goten and my mom trained me. But, but, see, um," he saw Calliope and Trunks nod encouragingly at him from the corner of his eye, "I just wanna know if, um," he took a deep breath and sought out his brother's energy signature for more reassurance. "If I win, can I rename the tournament the Gotenkaichi Budokai?"

\---

"That's your little brother?" Sevoya shouted at Gohan from over the audience's laughter.

Marron clapped her hands and nodded from where she sat in Gohan's lap.

"Yeah, he's a character," Gohan also confirmed, quietly praying that Goten and Trunks would not start showing off and shooting ki blasts all over the arena in the first few rounds. Bulma was surely thinking the opposite.

Grandpa Ox chimed in from behind them. "That's our Goten! He's just like his daddy."

Sevoya snickered. "Papa, that's the Monkey King's other son," she shouted at her father from over Chi Chi's head.

Hass nodded dumbly and looked from Goten's unmistakeable hairstyle and face on the blimp's jumbo screen, to Gohan, and then to their smiling mother sitting next to him. Hass's broad face was so red and his body so tense that Gohan thought the man might implode.

"Is your dad okay?" Gohan asked Sevoya when the laughter died down and Marron stopped squirming.

Sevoya grinned. "Oh, him? He just thinks he's died and gone to heaven. He's fine." She closed one eye and elbowed Gohan in the ribs. "Say, just out of curiosity, how would your mom feel about having two husbands at the same time?"

"Huh? What do you mean?" Gohan felt as if he could see all the pieces to what she was getting at, but couldn't quite figure out how to fit them together into a cohesive joke. "I don't think that's possible. She doesn't even have one husband right now."

Sevoya's expression went blank.

"See, my dad has been dead for seven years," Gohan clarified.

"Oh," Sevoya said. "I'm sorry." 

She looked down at her shoes and clasped her hands in her lap.

Gohan got the distinct feeling that she wanted to ask him a question, but was too upset at herself to try and voice it. "Don't be," he told her, and smiled.

\---

Videl followed behind the man with the broken limbs and green hair as he hobbled along. The short woman from the air duct matched Videl stride for stride and grinned knowingly whenever the girl even thought about making a break for her freedom. Behind them, two of the hulking bodyguards from the Champion's lounge kept a vigil while the other two flanked their limping leader.

Videl noticed that they had chosen to lead her to the most isolated part of the Papaya Island Stadium. This was the upper walkway, and only authorized personnel were allowed access. Their group had only made it this far because Videl had been with them to pass the many automated security checks. 

Videl wondered if she should have risked the short woman's wrath and screamed for help before this point, but she had not seen a good opportunity to do so. Their journey had been totally devoid of other people even before they had made it to the restricted areas. Apparently, her captors had planned ahead very thoroughly.

They had not made her do anything besides walk, though, so Videl figured that she still had time to fix the situation before it grew dire.

The catwalk leading to the blimp sporting the jumbo screen sat to her right, and two small rooms on opposite sides of the walkway's perimeter acted as the control centers for all of the electrical functions of the facility. Videl's commanding captor chose to stop the party when they were equidistant from all three major points of interest.

"I'm sure Thalia already told you in her haste to meet you," he said, shaking his head at the short woman, "but all we want you to do is help block a signal in these media rooms for us. Then, you may go compete with no consequences or strings attached."

"Why me?" Asked Videl. "You probably have your people all throughout this place, so why make me go in and do it?"

The man shrugged as best as he could with a broken arm. "You are Videl Satan. You have access to anywhere and everywhere, and nobody would dare stop you at a security checkpoint. Case and point, we made it all the way up here with nary a finger wag in our direction."

"So you _do_ want me to smuggle something dangerous into those rooms!" Videl asserted.

"Dangerous?" The man laughed. "Well, new ideas can be dangerous, I suppose. But no. We have not come here today to put anyone in any real, physical danger."

Videl licked her lips. She could hear the amplified hubbub of the tournament echo from below her.

"I'm Trunks," a child's voice floated through the air. "Goten and I have been friends forever, but I'm not as much of a goofball as he is..."

The man cocked his head. "Leader Erato and Melpomene are at their stations, correct, Thalia?"

"You know the answer to that as well as I do," Thalia, the woman, huffed.

The man was hurt by his cohort's attitude. "I was only trying to make conversation. The Inner Flame can do many things, but it only speaks for Calliope."

"The what?" Videl asked. "Talks to who?"

The man ignored her. "It's unlike you to be in so foul a mood, Thalia."

The crowd below them roared. "The winner of Trunks versus Huck is Trunks, with a one-hit K.O.!" The announcer cried. 

The audience slowly halted their ruckus and the next match began.

Finally, Thalia sighed. "Look. I already took care of all the rooms and air ducts in the temple proper, so, Videl, Terps, can you just, like, stop with the attitude? I don't even want to be around you right now." She glared at Videl. "And I never wanted to be near you."

" _You_ are the one who chose to threaten _me,_ " the girl retorted. "I was minding my own damn business."

"I just wanted to speed this whole process along, okay?! Terpsichore is already not gonna let me hear the end of it, and I don't need any extra lip from you, too. But if it makes you feel any better," Thalia said, sticking her tongue out at the green haired man, "I'll never try and be proactively independent again. I'll just hide in the vents like a good girl."

The announcer's voice drifted back into focus with the background noise. "Calliope won without even touching her opponent! It's always the quiet ones, folks!"

Terpsichore, the man with the green hair and crutch, moved his good arm so that his sleeve pulled back on his wrist and revealed a watch. He looked down at it. "What time did you install the last disruptor, Thalia?"

"I dunno, Terpsichore, what time did you last take your nose outta my business?"

"Thalia, please." The man pinched the bridge of said nose. "I am not the one who changed the plan. All I said was that it _might_ be better if we took a more civil approach to removing Miss Satan from the lounge. Leader Erato is the one who decided that you would stay in the vents and then help me escort Miss Satan while Melpomene would be stationed in the ring with the other combatants."

"Yeah, but we all know that Erato only made that call because you refused to work with Melpomene," Thalia grumbled.

"I never did or said anything like that!" Terpsichore shouted.

"We all know it's what you were thinking!"

"Thalia, why do you even want to try and fight in this tournament? It'll be a joke- these people don't understand the Inner Flame like you do, if at all!" Terpsichore waved the four bodyguards away, and they needed no other encouragement to scatter around the upper deck and as far from Thalia and Terpsichore as they could get.

Videl also felt uncomfortable in an entirely inappropriate way. "Look, it sounds like you two have a lot of personal stuff to work out, so I'm just going to walk away and let you guys sort this out yourselves, okay?" She held up her gloved hands and took a few steps back.

Thalia grabbed one of Videl's pigtails to keep her in place and gestured at Terpsichore with her other hand. "I don't want to fight in the tournament, necessarily, I just want to meet that one guy who punched you in the stomach- the one that made you convince Erato to make a move to go public today- the one that's got your jimmies all rustled!"

"We don't know for sure if he is even here, Thalia!"

"Bullshit! You felt Calliope's ki pulses- she _found his little brother_. That guy is totally here!" Thalia swatted away Videl's punches with one hand.

"Why is meeting him so great a priority to you? I will admit that I am eager to detain him, but I am the one who was beaten most shamefully at our first meeting. You've never even seen the boy!" Terpsichore gestured to Videl, who was still struggling against Thalia's hold. "You have much greater reason to begrudge her than I myself have to loathe my own target. You have Miss Satan, daughter of the man you hate, right in front of you! How is this situation not to your liking?"

"I challenge, I teach, I defend myself, and when I fight for real and not for those other reasons, I do it fairly." Thalia declared. "A fight between myself and Videl wouldn't fly with that credo. The only reason I want to kick her butt is to send a message to her daddy, and it doesn't sit well with me to beat her up only for the sin of being born to a lying media whore." Thalia wrinkled her nose. "Even if she is a turd."

"Hey!" Argued Videl. "Don't make it sound like you can beat me so easily- I'll have you know that I was the champion of the Junior Division of this tournament last year, and I plan to take the adult title from my father this year!"

Thalia pointed to the captive Videl. "See? She's got places to be and people to slap around, too. We're not gonna sit here and twiddle our thumbs with our potential destined showdowns going on below without us!" Thalia spun Videl around and moved her hand from the girl's hair to the back of her neck. 

"Huh?!"

"C'mon, Videl Satan, daughter of my mortal enemy, we're going!" Thalia steered the stunned girl forward.

"Thalia!" Terpsichore scolded. "Melpomene is our man on the ground! You are supposed to be our eyes in the sky!"

"Do those bandages inhibit your ability to fly?" Thalia barked at Terpsichore over her shoulder.

"Well, no, but--"

"Congrats! You're the eyes in the sky, now!" Thalia called.

Terpsichore gaped. "What about ceasing to be independently proactive?"

Thalia still forged ahead, Videl in tow. "I changed my mind!"

Videl tried to stop herself, but Thalia's relentless shoving kept her moving. "What just happened? What about the media rooms? W-Wh-what is even your deal?!"

Thalia chuckled. "Oh, girlie, your job was over the minute you got us through security and we stepped foot on the upper deck. We just wanted to keep you up there long enough to give our boys time to install our little devices before you went crying to daddy."

Videl felt like a fool. "Are you serious?!" She grabbed Thalia's hand, planted herself into the ground, and threw the woman over her shoulder. "I-I've got to stop you! I've got to alert security!"

Thalia took the fall and sprang right back to her feet. "Why?! You do that, the tournament is cancelled! You don't want that, and I don't want that! Nobody wants that!"

"But you've planted a-! A-!"

"It's not a bomb, for the last time!" Thalia groaned, dragging her hand down her face. "Why would we plant a bomb at a tournament one of our Leaders is attending?"

"The Circle in Satan City is nothing but suicide bombers!"

"That's because the Circle in Satan City is _crazy_! We don't do that kind of stuff in the Western and High Northeastern Circles!" Thalia bid Videl move forward with her arm. "Come on! Registration ends when the Junior Division finishes! We have to get a move on!"

\---

Calliope was deeply amused by her teacher's waves of utterly dumbfounded expression emanating from the top of the stadium wall. Thalia had no doubt abandoned Terpsichore so she could join in on the action on the ground. Honestly, that had been the plan from the beginning- Leader Erato assumed that Thalia would do as much once her job was completed, and therefore sent her with Terpsichore because he was in no condition to stop her. Calliope had considered telling the two their Leader's true intention from the get-go, but refrained. Surely Erato had chosen to have things play out this way for his own reasons.

Their Leader was funny that way.

And, according to the faint pulses of Inner Flame Calliope could detect when she focused, Thalia had also taken a begrudging liking to Videl Satan, of all people. Today was a day for surprises.

Calliope had no room to give Thalia grief for it, though. She had made some unlikely friends, too.

"Goten, I see what Krillin and your brother meant when they asked us to keep our energy down," Trunks said.

"I know!" the plucky Goten responded. "Tom grinned after he lost and said his injuries could be his battle scars, but I think I really broke something. And I didn't even think I hit him that hard!"

The two little boys were definitely unusual in their degree of both physical strength and Inner Flame. Calliope sincerely hoped that today would be successful and the boys would consider joining one of the Circles.

"Yeah, it got tricky with that Huck kid. When he hit the wall after I punched him, I was scared he wasn't breathing."

Calliope picked up the pencil and paper that Trunks and Goten had been kind enough to find for her. "I know a way to lock your excess energy inside of you so that you will only be able use your physical strength," she wrote. "It's supposed to be performed on yourself as an exercise in maintaining balance and inner tranquility under pressure, but I can perform it on you to act as a limiter, if you want."

Trunks finished reading her message long before Goten. "Really? But what about when we want our energy back?"

The entire concept was complicated, so Calliope used the explanation Terpsichore had given her when he first taught her the technique. "Think of it like a paper finger trap for Inner Flame." She berated herself and replaced "Inner Flame" with "ki". "So long as you try and pull out your energy and fight with it, the lock holds. But if you relax and push it inwards a little bit instead, it breaks."

Trunks once again finished the message while Goten was still struggling with the first sentence. "So, basically, all we have to do to go back to normal is relax and stop trying to use our energy?"

Calliope nodded and gave a thumbs-up.

\---

"Where is my son?!" Vegeta roared in place of a greeting. Gohan almost sent Marron flying off his lap in surprise. Vegeta was giving off so little ki that he had caught everyone by surprise.

"I can't find Trunks's energy signature." Vegeta was in his Saiyan armor and looked exhausted. "I was able to sense it just a few moments ago! Where is he?!" He yelled.

"He's competing in the Junior Division of the tournament and wondering why his father was not here to watch him!" Bulma snapped. Her annoyance turned to concern when she saw the state Vegeta was in. "What's gotten into you? You were missing from the house this morning and now you show up like this. Is everything okay?"

Vegeta ground his teeth and his eyes darted across the faces of both his onlooking acquaintances and curious total strangers. Gohan could tell that everything was, quite obviously, _not_ okay, but Vegeta dare not say so here.

"Sorry, Sevoya, I'll be right back," Gohan said. he handed Marron to Bulma and nodded. Bulma pursed her lips and then returned the gesture. "Vegeta, come with me to get some concessions?" Gohan suggested.

At first, Vegeta looked like he wanted to refuse, but scowled and headed away from the bleachers.

Gohan followed him to an empty walkway at the top of the seating area. Trunks's face appeared on the blimp's jumbo screen and Vegeta's expression calmed some, but he did not stop pacing back and forth.

"...There are people here looking for you," Vegeta eventually said. "I ran into them last night. I've been struggling with it since then, but they... My energy..." He tried to form a ball of ki in his hands, and started to strain when nothing happened. "I had to ask Bulma's father to bring me here."

Gohan raised his eyebrows.

"I can still sense the energy of others, though, and Trunks's is gone. So is Goten's." Vegeta's worried expression turned into a snarl. "Have you really gone so soft that you can't tell?!"

Gohan held up his hands. He had not thought to monitor their life forces considering that he had been watching them compete right in front of his nose. 

Still, a quick sweep told him Vegeta was right- Gohan could not locate the children by their ki. He could, however, still identify Krillin's energy in the direction of the Adult Division registration line. Eighteen was surely safe with him, too.

"Well! You feel it?" Vegeta bit out.

Gohan stared intently at Trunks as the boy waved to the audience in victory. "You're right. It's gone."

The Prince crossed his arms and tapped his fingers the way he always did when he was barely containing himself. "And those humans who did this to me- I can sense that two of them are here. One of them is down there," he said, thrusting his head in the direction of the ring. The other, above us. The third could be anywhere. She maintains her energy the way mine is now."

Gohan clenched and unclenched his fists as Goten stepped into the ring opposite a white-haired girl.

"She is one of them." Vegeta glared at Gohan. "Who are they? What sort of idiocy have you entangled yourself with?!"

The girl in the ring raised her arms above her head and formed a large orb of ki within her hands. Then, the wind suddenly cascaded down over the audience and towards where the girl stood in the center of the ring. Hats, posters, trash, and other detritus whirled around in the air like confetti in its wake.

In his mind's eye, Gohan saw the man from the Muscle Tower ruins smiling at him from the darkness of an underground tunnel. He had moved the air with his energy in much the same way.

"A cult," Gohan said, his voice flat.

"A _what_?!" Vegeta hissed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnnnd the winner of the "Most Italicized Dialogue In A Single Chapter" award iiiiiisssss.... _VIDEL SATAN!!!_
> 
> Hopefully this part is still fun and exciting even though... Nobody fought? On-screen? Even though it's a tournament? Go figure?
> 
> But if anyone cares, the theme song for Vegeta in this story is a blend of a couple Everclear songs I like, and more importantly, Tom Sawyer by the band Rush. (Hence why Goten faced off against Tom Sawyer, incidentally. Hey, I dig most forms of rock!!!!!) I will probably start putting down any notable verses or lyrics relevant to a character in my chapter notes as the opportunity arises.
> 
> Thanks for reading and to those of you who comment!!!! I appreciate it always!


	18. What Does Not Kill You Makes You Stronger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vegeta, Prince of Saiyans, has horrible judgement. He also has an even worse temper.

Calliope dispelled her Inner Flame so that it made a fading corona of light around the ring. The winds likewise disappeared and dropped their hostage debris back onto the ground.

Goten's face broke into a surprised and delighted smile at the display.

"And what an amazing show by Calliope, folks! I don't know what technique that was, but it has definitely been a while since I've seen anything even like it in this ring!" The announcer's sincerely peppy voice rang out over the awed crowd. 

Calliope made another, smaller ball of Inner Flame in her hands and blew into it. "Goten, unseal your power," her energized breath whispered for her. "You are stronger than me, I know, but we can at least put on a show for the audience before the match is over." She took a few breaths and blew into the ball again. "It will be fun!"

"Woah!" The announcer overheard her message. "I don't think the microphone can pick up the sound because it was so quiet, but it seems that Calliope can use her energy to speak! Amazing, folks!"

Goten was ecstatic. "Yeah!" He cheered, and plopped on his rear to meditate cross-legged.

"Uh, Goten?" The announcer asked, his microphone safely away from his face. "I'm about to start the match. What are you doing?"

Calliope smiled at the announcer and gestured for him to wait a moment.

After a few seconds, Calliope felt the little boy's cheerful Inner Flame bubble out from within him. "Woah! It worked! That felt so weird!" Goten said.

The announcer sighed and shrugged it off. "Whatever. You guys ready to start now?"

After making an experimental orb of energy in his hands, Goten nodded and took a fighting stance. Calliope did the same. 

"Yeah! Yeah! Let's go!" Goten cried.

The announcer twirled the microphone around in his hand like a baton and then addressed the crowd with it. "Let the Junior Division Semifinal match... BEGIN!"

Goten wasted no time- he charged forward for a head on attack, and Calliope sent a gust of wind to slow him and knock him upwards while she aimed low with a palm strike. Goten performed a back hand spring off of Calliope's shoulder and out of her reach. He hit the ground on all fours and tried to kick Calliope's feet out from under her.

Goten's outstretched leg hit nothing as Calliope hopped over it. She turned in midair and sent twin bolts of energy at her grounded opponent, which Goten rolled away from to avoid.

"Let's go faster!" The little boy said, and leapt to his feet.

Calliope obliged and sent a ball of Inner Flame and manipulated air at Goten at the same time.

Goten leapt to the side of the volley, and Calliope made the air change the trajectory of her energy blast so that they chased after the little boy.

Goten cried out in disbelief and zigzagged away from the moving orb. Calliope giggled as best she could and made her Inner Flame give chase.

"It seems that Calliope can not only direct the breeze, but the sphere of light she has created as well!" The announcer informed the crowd. "Aren't these two youngsters somethin' else!"

Calliope generated a second pearl of Inner Flame and sent it after her panicked opponent, too.

Goten finally tired of running. "You think you got me? Kamehame _ha!_ " He cried, and enveloped Calliope's twin white balls of Flame with a beam of blue that emanated from his hands. 

Unfortunately, Goten's attack did not stop there- the blue wave kept hurtling forward and towards the crowd.

"Goten, you idiot!" Trunks screeched from the sidelines.

Calliope covered her mouth to stifle the cries she could not voice, and Goten screamed out for the both of them.

The audience stared at the oncoming blast like deer caught in headlights.

Suddenly, Thalia appeared from out of nowhere. She intercepted Goten's errant Flame beam and swallowed it whole.

Thalia then thumped her chest and coughed as her feet met the tiled ground of the ring. "I hate having to do that!" She choked out, smoke pouring from her lips.

Calliope sent waves of gratitude to Thalia and hurried over to where the woman stood near the edge of the ring. Goten crept towards her slowly, too, totally stunned.

"I'm... How did... I'm so sorry!" He babbled.

Thalia gave the two children the high sign. "I'm okay. I'm a Fire Eater. Absorbing and manipulating foreign ki with my own is kind of one of my many specialties, so don't sweat it." Thalia coughed again. "I don't usually literally eat it, though," she tagged on as an afterthought. "Be more careful next time, though, kid."

"Um, can you get off the ring, ma'am?" The announcer interrupted, his microphone muted. "I realize you just saved a bunch of lives and I am very grateful, but the match is still going." He flipped the switch on the bottom of his mic and held it back up to his face. "Goten and Calliope, and all you ladies and gentlemen, I ask for a moment's patience before we continue. I need to discuss the legality of this woman's interference with the judge." The announcer turned the microphone back off and scurried over to where an old dog wrapped in orange robes sat beneath a multicolored beach umbrella. "Seriously, though, thank you," he called over his shoulder.

Thalia jumped off the ring and sauntered towards the contestant's pavilion and the shadowed, hulking mass that was Melpomene. "Melpomene, what were you doing?!" She scolded him. "You should have been stopping that, not me! Think about what might've happened had I not snuck back down here!"

"I knew you were going to be there, Thalia, so my interference would have been redundant," Melpomene retorted. Calliope noticed that Videl Satan, her blue eyes widened to the size of saucers, was standing knock-kneed next to him.

Thalia shook her head. "It's the principle of the thing I'm mad about, Melpomene!"

Calliope tuned the trio out and turned her attention to examining the audience. A particularly large Inner Flame had been reacting to the match in wildly fluctuating pulses since the beginning, and now was an ideal time for Calliope to scope out the crowd and see if she could identify who it belonged to. She had a nagging suspicion that its owner was the person her teacher was looking for.

Interesting. The signal had moved away from where Calliope had initially noticed it emanating from. Now, it was closer.

"I-I'm really sorry," Goten sniffed. "I was only thinking about stopping that ball of ki from chasing me, and I-I-I didn't think about what to do after that." His back was turned to her, but she knew he was on the verge of tears. "Calliope, w-will you seal my energy again? I know you said you wanted this to be a cool fight, but a bunch of people almost got hurt."

Really, she had not considered the possibility that Goten could not direct his power at will and felt partly to blame for the whole fiasco. She summoned the energy for the Twin Fangs into her hands and reached out to perform Erato's sealing technique.

Calliope's hands froze when a stranger appeared out of thin air and gripped her wrists. "Stop there, citizen!" The newcomer said to Calliope. "It isn't nice to strike your opponent in the back during a time out!"

\---

Thalia turned around when she felt a new presence in the ring. Videl followed her cue.

Some guy in a woman's cotton wrap dress, a red cape, and an orange helmet held Calliope captive.

Then, another figure leapt from the audience and into the ring next. He shuddered at the force of his impact with the ground.

It was Vegeta, the man from last night.

"Shit," cursed Thalia.

"Saiyaman?!" Videl blurted at the same time, half in disbelief and half in disgust, and started towards the ring to get a better look. 

Thalia grabbed her arm and held her back. "Sorry, girlie." She shoved Videl at Melpomene. "Do me a favor and keep her here, but don't hurt her."

"What?! Hey!" Videl struggled within Melpomene's hold and shrieked at Thalia, but the woman was already inside the ring.

Calliope's little friend- Son Goten, if Thalia remembered the briefing correctly- was tugging on the stranger's tacky red cape. "No, let her! I asked her to!" The boy said. "I don't wanna Kamehameha the audience again by accident! It's okay!"

"Take her out, Gohan. Your brother doesn't understand the situation," Vegeta countered, panting. It was painfully apparent that his ki was still knotted up within him and fighting against itself.

Thalia examined the masked Son Gohan's energy more closely. It vacillated evenly between two steady extremes of outrageously overbearing and overwhelmingly underwhelming, like the ocean's waves crashing into and retreating from the side of a rock face, or like a game of tug o' war that moved dramatically from side to side but that nobody ever won. Thalia wondered if it moved in the same pattern even when he was not embroiled in obvious conflict.

Thalia kept her voice low. "You. Saiyaman. Goten's your little brother, right? Son Goku's your father? And you beat the snot out of a pretentious green haired dancer about a week ago?"

"This is the tricky one," Vegeta said, raising his fists and failing to hide his exhaustion.

Thalia could barely believe Vegeta had been wrestling with his own energy for this long without collapsing- or sleeping, or just relaxing for five seconds- and unlocking it naturally. The stubborn idiot would soon kill himself if he did not stop struggling against the Twin Fangs' seal.

Gohan's fluctuating ki rose in intensity in both extremes and he stepped in front of little Goten protectively.

Thalia tried to dispel the situation. "Look, I know Terpsichore promised the Circle wouldn't come after you, but if it makes you feel any better, Son Gohan, you are not the real reason we are here. Calliope and I aren't gonna-"

Vegeta stepped forward and knocked Calliope out with a chop to the neck. Gohan, baffled, released her wrists caught the girl's back and head as she fell.

"No!" Gohan and Goten cried in tandem.

Vegeta huffed. "I don't have time or energy to waste chit-chatting with the enemy! Goten is still in danger, and as far as I know, my son's ki is already gone forever. I will not passively stand by and watch you bungle things with your inaction!"

\---

Sevoya gripped her knees and leaned forward in her seat. The man from earlier, with the wildly tall hair- the one Gohan had left to get concessions with- stood in the middle of the ring next to Saiyaman, who was frantically trying to revive the white-haired girl with Goten's help. 

The shocked chatter of the crowd scrambled her thoughts around like bees trapped in an overturned hive until she could not keep them inside anymore.

"Please tell me the truth," Sevoya said to Chi Chi. "Gohan. He's not Saiyaman, is he?"

Sevoya was not stupid, but the whole situation and its implications were a lot to absorb. Part of her hoped Chi Chi would deny everything and Gohan would come trotting back to his seat right now with an oblivious smile and a pile of nachos as high as he was tall.

It was not to be. "Oh, he hadn't told you about that already?" Chi Chi shook her head. "My son. I told him he needs to focus on his studies instead of playing superhero, but he just likes helping people."

So Videl Satan had been right about Saiyaman this whole time. Sevoya stared back at the figures standing in the ring and swallowed hard. From here, they looked like unflinching statues. At least the announcer had the grace to mirror Sevoya's mood from the sidelines.

"I think it's Gohan's idea of trying to be like his father," Chi Chi sighed. "Although Goku was more concerned with the adventure of the task rather than the payoff, but still. At least my babies aren't running around with tails anymore."

Sevoya blinked. "Tails?"

"Oh, yes, dear. Your father is a big martial arts fan, right? Has he never mentioned to you that Goku had a tail as a child? That's why they called him The Monkey King, after all."

Hass nodded, his face still the color of a fire hydrant, at Chi Chi's assertion. 

Great.

Gohan was the one friend Sevoya had managed to make in the span of seven years, and he was also turning out to be one of the strangest people on the face of the Earth. 

She had also kissed him and then repeatedly insulted his super hero alter ego right in front of his face.

The buzzing in Sevoya's head grew louder. She felt a little dizzy, actually.

"I think I need to go lock myself in a bathroom stall and vomit," she said, and excused herself.

\---

Vegeta's eyes widened as Trunks bowled the incredulous announcer over in his rush to enter the ring. "Father! What's wrong? What's going on?!"

"Trunks, stay back!" Gohan called.

"Do as he says." Vegeta silently cursed himself for agreeing with Kakkarot's son.

Thalia held up her hands. "Now, look. Vegeta, I need you to relax for me. Just for a minute. And Gohan, if you would just put Calliope down over on the sidelines, we can talk this out and--"

"Relax?!" Vegeta barked as he tried once again to bring forth his ki. He knew it was a useless endeavor, but the Prince never had been a quitter. "Don't tell me to relax, you bitch! You cannot talk your way out of this!"

"Out of _what_ , exactly?" Thalia jerked a thumb at Trunks. "This is your kid? You think Calliope and I have done something big and bad and awful to him? Well!" Vegeta's insides squirmed as Thalia addressed his boy. "Your old man can't seem to figure out that we're not trying to hurt you with that energy sealing trick. Would you try talking some sense into him for me?"

"This lady is Calliope's friend!" Goten shouted from behind his brother's cape.

Trunks straightened his posture the way Vegeta had taught him to do when formally addressing a superior. "Please do as she asks, sir," he said. "She is not trying to trick you. Your energy will come back if you only relax. Watch," he said, and suddenly Vegeta could sense his son's life force once more.

The Prince grit his teeth. This was much too simple to be anything but a ploy of some kind.

"Maybe they are telling the truth, Vegeta. We should step out for now and take care of this outside of the public eye," Gohan added.

So this woman and her little white-haired cohort had tricked the boys? The Prince of Saiyans would not prove so easily fooled.

The announcer stepped forward. "Would you people _please_ stop interfering wi--"

Vegeta rounded on the announcer and elbowed him in the stomach. His sunglasses flew off of his face as he passed out from the impact.

"Shut up! All of you! I'm not listening to this talk anymore!" Vegeta next slid between his son and Thalia and sent a kick to the woman's side. 

"Father, please don't!" Trunks cried.

Thalia stopped the kick with one arm and pulled Vegeta off balance by his leg. "Yeah, because losing your temper worked out so well for you before," she muttered.

Vegeta's vision grew spotty and the Prince knew, with rising dread, that he did not have the energy to catch himself when Thalia let him go.

She steadied Vegeta by the shoulders as he stumbled into her. "I'd call you a stubborn shit, but I don't want to curse in front of the kids," Thalia said, and sent a set of glowing purple fingers to his chest.

Vegeta felt his ki finally break free as she pushed him away. He panted harder as it pulsed through his already battered and alert body. A faint aura lit around him and the ground cracked like ice beneath his feet. Still, this was barely a drop in the bucket- why was he so drained?!

"Vegeta." Gohan said. "Vegeta, we need to leave. You aren't holding up so well."

Vegeta hated being told what to do. "Where is the rest of my energy?!" The Prince hissed, struggling to keep on his feet.

Thalia buried her face in her hands. "Oh my word, you don't know? How hard did I hit you last night?! I used your own ki to keep your energy inside of you. Every time you so stupidly tried to use any, you fought yourself and wasted twice as much as you normally would have!"

Gohan cradled Calliope against his shoulder with one arm and sent out a hand to steady the Prince. "Stop pushing," he said. "You're spent, and you aren't thinking straight. Using more of your energy isn't going to do you any good. Let me take care of this now."

Vegeta swatted the boy's hand away. Son Gohan would dare to coddle his Prince?! What an insult! It had made Vegeta's blood curdle when the child had saved him on Namek and again against Cell, but this was preposterous! Vegeta was facing a _single human!_

"Trunks, Goten! Leave!" The Prince commanded.

"Vegeta, _stop_." Son Gohan had the gall to question his better! Like hell was Vegeta going to admit Kakkarot's soft, undisciplined oldest had the right of the situation!

Vegeta may have been unable to hold out in a formal fight, but there was more than one way to skin a cat.

 _"I'll show you spent!"_ The Prince shrieked, as much at Gohan as his enemy, and released as much energy as he could spare around himself in a single, concentrated blast from his core.

\---

While the audience screamed and ducked for cover, Gohan snatched up the children and the announcer as quickly as he could and cleared the concentrated explosion. His cape and the back of his green costume were not quite so lucky as he shielded his charges from the shockwaves of Vegeta's wrath with his back.

Gradually, the flash of ki faded. Gohan turned and saw Vegeta, his armor fried, standing on a patch of bare earth where the ring used to be. Vegeta muttered something and slowly fell to his knees. Then, his harsh, dark eyes closed as he collapsed into the dirt.

"Father!" Trunks cried, and squirmed out of Gohan's grasp. 

Goten did the same and the boys rushed to the fallen warrior's side. "Vegeta!"

Gohan gently leaned Calliope and the announcer down against the outer wall of the ring.

The short woman with the red hair appeared unscathed next to him. Gohan went on the defensive.

"Well. He's a piece of work," she said. "But you, you're not like that."

The woman's quiet, constant presence put him on edge now that he was close enough to feel it. It was as if her ki was so concentrated that it filled every inch of her body and pushed at her seams, but could never escape. This woman's energy was dense, and her entire being was controlled. That was the only way Gohan could think to describe it. "Why are you here?" He asked.

Instead of answering, the woman held up both of her hands in a surrendering position and walked closer. Gohan tensed, but he knew better than to strike out at her without reason.

She pulled Gohan down to her eye level by his neck and tilted the Saiyaman helmet back just enough for her to see his face. She kept her expression neutral as she wordlessly examined him.

Gohan stared back at her in wide-eyed shock, and then jammed the helmet back down the moment he regained his bearings enough to swat her away. Hopefully nobody else saw his face.

"We're here to make an impression. That's all," the woman said, and pried the microphone out from the stiff fingers of the unconscious announcer. She nodded to a shadowed figure beneath the contestant's pavilion and flipped the switch on the mic base. Some significant feedback rang out and the woman thrust the source away from her face like a noxious piece of dirty laundry.

The crowd murmured nervously as she brought it back to her mouth.

"Well, ladies and gentlemen, wasn't that exciting? The Gotenkaichi Budokai is just full of surprises!" She winked at Goten, who was too preoccupied with the unconscious Vegeta to notice. "I'll betcha didn't expect anything like _this_ to happen today!" The woman addressed the crowd and slowly walked to the center of the stadium floor, "Well, neither did we. Not right then, anyway. We are not affiliated with that guy on the ground. But, uh," the gently prodding toe and quirked eyebrow she gave Vegeta was broadcasted by the jumbo screen on the blimp above, "the result of the Junior Division Semifinal is in some serious jeopardy and the judges need another few moments to determine how to proceed. However," she held up a finger and Gohan felt the smallest reduction in pressure around the woman's own ki, "we have prepared a special presentation to tide you guys over. We were gonna wait and show it after the two youngster finalists finished beating the snot out of one another, but hey, no time like the present!" She opened her palm and gestured to the screen above her head. "Terpsichore, it's all you!"

Gohan swore that very, very faintly, he heard a man's voice carry on the wind, "Could you stand to have even the least bit of professionalism?!"

The screen changed from a close-up of the woman's grinning face to an image of the ZTV logo.

Next, a man in a rubber suit crafted to look like Cell appeared on the screen. The audience booed.

Gohan warily moved to the center of the ring and examined Vegeta. He was definitely going to come back stronger from this. Honestly, Gohan thought the whole thing was stupid; it struck the boy as folly that Vegeta's impulsive recklessness consistently rewarded him in strength and speed.

"Big brother, why was Vegeta acting like that?" Goten asked.

Gohan's little brother only ever asked the difficult questions. "I don't think he was trying to be mean. There has been some kind of a misunderstanding," Gohan said, putting a hand on Trunks's back. "But he's going to be okay. Promise." The older Son gently hoisted Vegeta onto his back.

A sudden, uproarious cheer from the crowd prompted the boys to look back at the screen above them.

"Your useless magic tricks are stupid and... useless!" A rubber suit version of Hercule campily confronted the Cell over the crowd's roar. The audience increased their volume in assent.

But then the monitor went dark.

Gohan whirled around to send a questioning look to the short woman. She was not alone anymore. A bald man three times her height and at least that much more massive stood next to her. Behind them, Videl Satan stood frozen in uncertainty.

"Do you people really believe this?" A new voice boomed throughout the stadium sound system, deeper and louder than any of the others before it. "Tricks? A single creature destroyed an entire military force with nothing but a few magic tricks?" The jumbo screen turned back on and replayed Cell's decimation of the Royal Military. "And do you really believe that Mark Satan, a champion wrestler, defeated a creature able to drain away the very life of our cities?" Shaky camera phone footage played- Cell's tail bulged and contracted as he liquified and absorbed a woman.

Gohan pushed Trunks's and Goten's faces against his sides so they could not watch.

The video only stopped when Cell walked towards the camera and the feed turned to static. Nicky Town's aftermath filled the monitor next. Empty clothing littered the ground of the ruined streets. "Really, do you believe Mark Satan somehow stopped and then magically reversed this?" The screen went blank again. "Or are you just too afraid to face the truth?"

The voice reverberated, unchallenged, over the crowd.

The image of a man slowly faded into focus on the display. His long hair was blue-black with twin streaks of grey coming from his temples and his eyes were penetrating. "My name is Erato, and today I speak to you on behalf of the High Northeastern and the Western Circles of the Inner Flame. Our sacred mission is one of enlightenment, and we do not believe the lies that Mark Satan has told us. Primarily, we abhor the notion that our Inner Flame is nothing but magic." He smiled. "In fact, my Circle and I would like to show you something. Do not worry, it is nothing so destructive as what the unconscious man beneath the screen performed. It is, however, just as real." Erato held up his hands and created a pearl of purple ki between them.

Gohan felt a multitude of rising energies within the audience. He released his grip on the boys and panned the stadium.

About every tenth member of the crowd had risen to their feet and displayed a sphere of their own energy between their hands. The lights blinked at Gohan in every color of the rainbow, faintly at first, and then they slowly began to brighten in tandem with one another until the shining sunlight overhead was faded and dark by comparison to their glow.

"We refer to this as Inner Flame," Erato said on the screen. "Some martial artists call it ki, and I myself first learned it as qi. All are technically correct. We use the term Inner Flame to identify those who, among those in the know of life energy in general, belong to one of our Circles. You may reach out and touch the Inner Flames of my associates if you would like, but I must warn you- it might hurt. The title is not entirely a misnomer."

"So many," Trunks said. "Yamcha is still with our moms to protect them if anything happens, right?"

Gohan nodded and searched out Krillin's energy. The man was close, and judging by his intensity, he and Eighteen were probably watching what was happening.

Erato continued his address from the blimp's screen. "However, the Inner Flame, to us, is more than the beautiful spheres of light you see before you. It represents the potential in all of us, and the truth. It speaks of our destiny to rise to greater things."

A recorded Son Goku appeared in Erato's place, his eyes an electrified green and his hair a glowing golden crown upon his head. The camera struggled to keep him in frame as he dashed after Cell within a field of debris and clouds.

Goten left his brother's side to take a better look at the screen above him. The younger boy gestured for Trunks and excitedly pointed at the face of his late father.

Goku's past battle continued as Erato spoke. "These magicians Mark Satan speaks of- my kindred beside you are just as much magicians as they are. That is to say," the Circle members in the audience threw their balls of ki at the posters and billboards depicting Mister Satan's visage, "that they are not magicians at all." Their energies exploded and defaced their targets.

On the monitor, Son Goku slowly dropped from the sky and approached his friends on the sidelines. "We within the Circle do not know for sure who these men are, or where they came from, but they are the inspiration for our beliefs." The ascended, golden forms of the future's Trunks and the past's Vegeta appeared on the screen, and then Gohan, eleven years old and wrapped in the white cape given to him by Piccolo, filled the frame. "They prove, through their mastery of the Inner Flame, that humanity is capable of greater things and possesses a deeper, more profound gift than most of us ever even knew we had. We call them the Sundrop Messengers, and we aspire to embrace our gifts the same way they have."

The screen split itself into four squares. Head shots of Krillin, Tien, Yamcha, and Piccolo appeared one by one in each window. "These other martial artists, however, we have identified. In fact, I think I may have seen some of them walking around the tournament today!" Erato chuckled. "I would love to have a chat with them sometime, if they were willing. But regardless, their identities do give us some important clues as to who might have actually saved the world, and I promise you that it was not Mark Satan, and it was not through the use of some sort of fake magic trick."

Gohan's head started to hurt. Why, exactly, he could not say.

Erato himself appeared on the screen once more. "But that is hardly a matter we need discuss any further today. I have come to address you for a different reason."

Goten and Trunks's upturned faces plastered themselves on the monitor as the live feed from the tournament ring returned. They took a few steps back in shock at seeing themselves onscreen. Gohan pulled them both back to him. This time, the two children hugged his legs without protest.

The camera panned and zoomed to the short woman with the even shorter hair and the huge man in the olive gi standing next to her. Gohan chose to watch the duo with his own eyes rather than on a screen. Their expressions read like the masks of comedy and tragedy respectively.

Erato's voice rang forth once more. "The pair standing in the center of what used to be the ring are two of my Western Circle kindred. The woman is Thalia and the man is Melpomene. They are the premier martial artists of our Circles and will be competing in the Adult Division today on our behalf. I would like you to think of their challenges today as exhibition matches more so than competitive fights." He chuckled. "However, please do not be alarmed when one of them defeats Mister Mark Satan in the championship match. We may despise the lies he has told, but we do not want to throw his safety and well being into question."

From Gohan's point of view, Thalia looked like she wanted to disagree. Melpomene held his impassive frown.

Erato carried on. "All we want, good people, is to prove to you the truth and the triumph of our mission. We hope to enlighten you, and perhaps invite you to consider turning to the Circle as a way to help us move humanity forward by embracing your own Inner Flame in whatever discipline you wish to apply it to. Today's example is martial arts, but there are many other ways such a talent can influence the world. I myself am an acupuncturist!" He laughed again. "This is the first major public foray any Circle has made into the public eye at large. We are honored to have you as our witnesses, regardless of what you choose to do. I thank you all." Erato bowed to the camera. 

This was preposterous. Erato may not have said it, but the Circle practically held all of Papaya Island Stadium hostage just by way of their sheer numbers. If anyone so much as tried to lift a finger against them or cancel the tournament, the situation would turn into pandemonium before the cult was contained. Gohan suddenly felt acutely aware of Vegeta's weight on his back and how Goten dug his fingers into his leg in answer to his big brother's nervousness.

Neither Son Goku nor Piccolo had ever prepared Gohan for anything other than straightforward to-the-death fights or all out war. He felt lost. How was he supposed to defeat an enemy made up of the very citizens he wanted to protect? How was he ever supposed to protect _anyone_ without his father's guidance?

This was not how he wanted his story to unfold- with Gohan, son of Goku and trained by Piccolo, uselessly standing by the same way he felt he had always done as a child. But here he was, as lost as ever, and now with Goten and Trunks there to watch him fail. The ruined Saiyaman costume he was wearing felt like a bad joke now.

Gohan steered himself and the children past Thalia and Melpomene and ignored Videl's shouts in his direction. He should send the boys and Vegeta to West City, and then fly Sevoya and his extended family out of the stadium by Nimbus and by his own manpower. Yamcha would surely help, and Krillin was probably thinking the same thing. Then, maybe he could worry about the rest of this mess.

"Saiyaman," Erato's grey eyes cut through Gohan's fog and pinned the boy down where he stood. The Circle leader was looking right at him through the blimp screen. "I do hope you are not thinking of leaving. I was under the impression you would compete with us today!"

Thalia turned around. "This really is only a press opportunity for us," she said to him. "We really don't want to hurt you or your people. We're pushy and demanding, but we're not total scumbag liars. Just Terpsichore is sometimes. Tell him, Videl. About how you thought that the signal bugs we were placing was a bomb but all it turned out to be was the stuff for that presentation and audio hack. Saiyaman trusts you, right?"

Videl was, for once, at a total loss. "I don't... I don't know what to say," she admitted. "I don't know what to believe. That's my father you're slandering, and you took me hostage, and then that man," she pointed at Vegeta, "he just blew up the ring in a blast of light, and now I don't..." She shook her head.

Gohan's voice was small, but it still came out louder than he wanted it to. "Why do you care so much about who did or did not save the world seven years ago? Why do you even want to make other people aware of it?" Goten and Trunks shrank into him as he started shouting. "Shouldn't the fact that the world is safe be enough for you?!"

Melpomene stepped forward. "The obfuscation of the truth holds us all back," he said. "Getting complacent doesn't teach us anything. We want to learn, and we want to know, and we want to grow. And we cannot do that if we sit back and let the world take the path of least resistance. Lies hurt everyone."

Gohan lowered his head. "The truth is what can really hurt you, you know. What you find may not be everything you want it to be."

"Maybe," said Thalia. "And it might hurt us, sure. But not destroy us. And, well," she shrugged. "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, right?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote and rewrote this part three times. I have a whole extra, like, novella of stuff I felt I needed to cut or change or just plain did not use. (Some of it was really funny, too. :( alas.)
> 
> Today's thematically relevant and inspirational songs are:
> 
>  
> 
> _No One Is Alone _from the musical _Into the Woods_ (for Gohan and the boys... it is a common theme for Gohan throughout this story either as the recipient of the song or the role of the singer) __
> 
>  
> 
> _  
> __Capital H_ by Motion City Soundtrack (for Gohan, but arguably Vegeta today) is starting to come in and will be carrying itself for a while._  
>  _
> 
>  
> 
> _  
> __Inutil_ from the musical _In The Heights_ is also relevant. It is usually consistently Vegeta's character growth theme for this story as well as one of Krillin's intrinsic themes, but Gohan shares it a little today._  
>  _


	19. The Elephant in the Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gohan talks about his father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally this chapter was longer, but I truncated it and moved some parts to later. This may mean that the tournament lasts FIVE chapters rather than four, but I think you'll see what I mean when I say that this part ended in too important a place to let any other scenes tag onto the end.
> 
> Also I finally let Chi Chi's accent come out. Yay!
> 
> Thank you as always to those of you who read, and even more to those who leave feedback. I'm chatty as crap. Hahaha!

The lull after the Circle's commotion passed Videl by in a dreamlike blur from where she sat in the shade of the contestant's pavilion. Melpomene was the one keeping her there- Thalia had disappeared with the little white haired girl's unconscious body on some kind of errand. 

Apparently, the remainder of the Junior Division Tournament had been postponed- Calliope, the girl, was now not only unconscious, but gone, and the two boy finalists seemed very reluctant to fight one anyone at all after Saiyaman had escorted them away from the ring.

The Adult Division was still on, though. Once the staff packed down the bare earth where the ring once stood and cleaned up the latent debris, the tournament would continue as planned.

But that was all announced a while ago, and Videl was beginning to snap out of her initial shock from the day's events. She took in her surroundings with newfound awareness.

Saiyaman seemed radically different than Videl was used to. He had cast his ruined tunic and cape away and the streaks of shade cast within the contestant's pavilion fell over him like a dark cloud.

He moved to sit on a bench against the far wall opposite Videl and hid the lower half of his face behind knitted fingers. At first, she wondered where the rest of his entourage was, but then she remembered that a short man with the marks of a monk had come and taken the two children fighters and the odd, angry man with the tall black hair away. The hero was alone now, and he looked it. The orange of his helmet was the closest thing to cheerful left about him. 

This side of Saiyaman was reserved and pensive rather than obnoxiously posed and exploding with enthusiasm unbridled, and Videl wondered which one was closer to his real personality. 

Thalia was back, and in different clothes. She came up behind Videl and nudged her in the shoulder. "You'll make it in. I went and registered for you. They were doing this stupid punching machine thing, so I got in line twice and said I was you the second time." She thrust her chin at Saiyaman. "And then I put on a motorcycle helmet and my gi and got in line a third time for him. They never even noticed." Thalia grinned and walked over to Saiyaman. Videl noticed she had something tucked in the belt of her gi.

A beautiful blonde woman that Videl had not noticed before intercepted Thalia and blocked her way.

Thalia looked the new woman up and down in shock, like her very existence was unnatural. "Okay," Thalia said, baffled. "What's your story?"

"That's none of your business," the blonde said. "Neither is his."

Thalia raised her hands in the air. "Hey, I don't mean any more trouble than I've already made. I just want to talk."

The blonde woman ran her fingers through her glossy hair. "Oh, yeah? Then talk to me." She was so flawless that Videl could not help but wonder if she was even human.

"Easy there. I've only just met you, and thus far I've made absolutely zero threats to anybody here." Thalia turned and smiled at Videl. "Alright, that's a lie. But I haven't made any to you yet, so what's the harm in letting me by?" 

The blonde opened her mouth to retort but Saiyaman interrupted her. "Eighteen," he said. "It's okay."

"Eighteen," Thalia said to herself, and nodded. She stuck out her hand. "I'm Thalia."

Eighteen wrapped her own perfect hand around Thalia's calloused and offered one. "I'm not like Vegeta. Your little trick- I can't sense it, but it won't work," she said.

"Eighteen," Saiyaman warned. 

Videl expected Thalia to crack wise and stop the handshake. The short woman surprised her by doing neither. "No, this is fine," she said to Saiyaman. "And I never thought it would," Thalia addressed Eighteen again. "And I mean it. I don't intend to try it on you, or him. Not now. Not like this."

Eighteen answered Thalia's open expression with an enigmatic glare.

Eventually, a light pulsed behind Eighteen's eyes. That was the only way Videl could think to describe it. "I'll play your little game. And I'll win. But I have a daughter in the audience," the beautiful woman said, and then finally released Thalia's hand. Bruises and blood spotted the uncovered flesh. "Don't forget," Eighteen finished, and walked away.

Thalia watched her go, her expression wary, and then put a grin back on her face as she turned to Saiyaman. "Where was I? Ah, yes." She pulled out the thing tucked in her belt. "Head protection is not allowed in this tournament, so I have a little present for you!"

Saiyaman stared through his visor at whatever Thalia held out to him, but did not reach out to take it.

"Oho. I get it." Thalia turned around and eyed Melpomene and Videl. "I hate to be bossy and particular, but can you two give us a moment? Kamen Rider over here is about to have a wardrobe change and I don't think he wants any peeping Toms."

\---

Krillin found his friends and daughter relatively quickly. Yamcha had been kind enough to make his energy act as a beacon, and when they had gotten close, Marron had waved to her father's trimmed head from where it bobbed beneath Vegeta's overgrown one. That had helped some, too.

The entire audience turned to watch Krillin and his little party as they made their way through the bleachers. It was more than a little unsettling.

Once, Krillin had dreamed of this kind of recognition. He had wanted it for a more glorious and self-aggrandizing reason than carrying an unconscious terrorist alien up a few flights of stairs, but still, twenty four years after the fact, he finally had all the eyes at the Tenkaichi Budokai riveted on him in absolute, uncontested awe. If only Goku could see him now.

He had meant that sarcastically, but somehow the thought morphed into something more sincere.

Krillin must be turning into Master Roshi- only old people got all misty-eyed when they reminisced about old friends and glory days. Krillin did his best to put Goku out of his mind, but the deceased's youngest son darted back into his field of view and clung to his mother like a permanent, living reminder.

It was almost funny to see Goku's spitting image so openly and eagerly cry to Chi Chi instead of the other way around. Life had a cruel sense of humor sometimes.

Meanwhile, Trunks reached out for Bulma, but did not run to her. He was more concerned with staying by his father's side- the sly boy was pushy and a braggart like Vegeta, but he was much more steadfast than the warrior would ever be.

Then again, Vegeta still believed in Goku's return more doggedly than any of them, even Krillin, so perhaps not.

Krillin adjusted Vegeta's weight on his back as Bulma stood up and reached for her husband and child.

"He's fine," Krillin said encouragingly. "This'll be nothing to him. I've seen Vegeta come back from stuff way uglier than this."

"Gohan said that, too." Trunks looked up at Krillin with doubt written on his face.

Krillin nodded. "Oh yeah. Just whisper "there's no such thing as a Super Saiyan" in his ear a few times and he'll be up and screaming about how wrong you are like none of this ever happened. You know your dad- he loves a good challenge."

Bulma smiled despite herself. "He's right, Trunks," she said with worried eyes. This was not the place to ask more questions like how or why and keep the topic open for discussion.

"Yeah, little man. He's one indestructible dude," Yamcha added.

Trunks nodded, slowly. "But, um, but why did he come and hit my friend? Gohan said it was a misunderstanding, but over what?"

"I have no idea," Krillin lied. The Circle of the Inner Flame's presentation certainly gave him a few possible- and possibly reasonable- explanations about today's tantrum. Krillin cast a wary eye over the audience as it collectively gave the same to him. "But there will be plenty of time to ask about that later. For now, I think we should leave."

"Yeah," Yamcha agreed.

"What? Leave?!" Chi Chi interjected. "But Gohan is still down there."

Krillin sighed. "Chi Chi, he'll be fine. And it'll help him to know we're somewhere else besides here. You know, somewhere without cultists? Because he wants us somewhere without cultists."

Some of the audience members chuckled. The rest looked nervous.

Chi Chi was adamant. "I'm not going to leave while my baby is still in the middle of this mess. I've let him get tangled up in these convoluted catastrophes quite enough for one lifetime, thank you!" She said. It was very slight, but her accent was slowly coming out. That was never a good sign.

Goku's widow had only barely ever gotten a taste of what it felt like to stand around, useless and helpless, while someone she loved put the whole of their being on the line to protect her right in front of her face. Most of her experiences witnessing mortal peril had been distorted through crystal balls, gut-wrenching unknowns, and television screens. Krillin knew he did not have the heart to tell her that bearing witness firsthand and possibly being used as an unwitting Achilles' heel was not any better of an alternative.

Yamcha was more forthright. "We gotta go, Chi Chi. Krillin's right. Gohan's not gonna want us here."

Chi Chi threw her fists down by her sides and stomped her foot. "Well! That's too bad for him! I'm stayin'!"

Oolong and Pu'ar stared ahead and sipped their soda and popcorn, but the Ox King tried to intervene. "Darlin', if Gohan and Krillin think we oughta leave, then maybe we--"

Chi Chi held up a hand. "Daddy! I ain't hearin' it."

Krillin used to think this woman was absolutely nuts, but his life with Eighteen and Marron had changed him. Probably for the better. Now, he thought Chi Chi was only a tiny bit crazier than he was. "Chi Chi, I know you're worried about your oldest son, but what about your youngest? He's upset. Why don't we focus on keeping him happy?"

"I don't wanna leave without Gohan! I won't be happy 'til my big brother is with me 'n happy, too!" Goten totally blew a hole in Krillin's strategy.

"You were sayin', Krillin?" Chi Chi challenged, her arms crossed.

He had been saying, in his head, that he wondered if Goten hated getting wet willies and wedgies as much as his father did. "I'm getting you guys off this island even if I have to carry you out of here on top of Vegeta. Yamcha, grab Bulma and Marron and let's go."

"Nuh-uh!" Chi Chi hissed. "Don't you dare try n' pull me away from my boy! You already had your time to do that. Now, he's my sweet Gohan again and there is nothin' in this world that's gonna rip his mother away from him this time!"

Krillin felt like too big of a piece of shit to try and use a counter argument.

"Um, uh, S-son Krillin?" A new voice entered the fray from behind Chi Chi.

Krillin raised his eyebrows and regarded the huge red faced man peeking out from behind Goku's widow. Very few people even knew that Krillin had been given the Son name as a gift from his Master, and even fewer bothered to use it. "Uh, yes? Do I, uh, know you?"

The man fidgeted. "N-no, but, uh, I'm, uh, I'm a big fan... Um, uh, but see," his face lessened in color, "I don't mean to interrupt, but... My daughter is the one who invited Son Gohan here, and--"

Chi Chi nodded. "This is mister Hass. He's much more of a gentleman than y'all are!" She huffed. Hass' face turned the color of an overripe tomato once more and Chi Chi flashed him a smile, which only made him redder. "He and his daughter are just lovely people! Wherever we go, they gotta come, too! And you two boys couldn't possibly hope to carry all of us away at once, could ya, Krillin?"

Krillin totally could, but he held back his sass.

"That, um, that's the thing," Hass squeaked out. His high voice contrasted sharply with his huge stature, but it returned to a normal pitch once he made himself cut to the chase. "My daughter, Sevoya. I um, see, she went to the bathroom before the Circle's presentation. She still hasn't come back, and when I went to check the bathrooms, she wasn't there. I, uh, barged into the stalls and everything."

Krillin nodded and tried to keep his tone polite. "And this is important because...?"

Bulma flicked his ear. "Meaning, it's been almost an hour since Gohan's little girlfriend went missing. Is that important enough for you?"

\---

Gohan held the mask in his hands and stared down at it. Thick red ringed the gold around the eyes and then carried down the nose and chin in a straight line. The mask had no mouth- black paint highlighted the underside of the nose and slashed down from there in droplet shapes like stitches holding the lips shut by their center. The rest of it was white with thinner black designs winding their way over it.

"Do you not like it? I guess I could've gone for something flashier, but I was hoping you'd appreciate this one!" Thalia grinned.

Gohan turned the mask over in his hands. It had an attached hood that he could cover his hair with.

"I went all the way to South City to pick that up from a specialty shop." Thalia was still smiling down at him expectantly. Gohan was torn between thanking her and punching her in the face.

He did neither.

Thalia almost let the silence between them settle but then impatiently flopped down on the bench next to him. "C'mon! There has to be some piece of you excited about this! It's a tournament! For sport! For competition! For fun!" She nudged his shoulder with her own.

Gohan's annoyance at her casual physical contact spurred him to speak more than anything else. "I've never had an experience where martial arts was treated as anything other than war, or the training for one." He shied away from her.

Thalia frowned. "Really?" She pointed to the mask. "But your dad's The Monkey King! Nobody was more playful in the ring! Nobody loved the sport more than he did!" She shook her head. "He did some crazy stuff and made some crazier friends outta his enemies, but he never seemed like a bloodthirsty type."

"What do you know about my dad?" Gohan's words were curious despite himself. 

Thalia looked absolutely baffled. "Oh, I dunno. Maybe that he was the greatest martial artist Papaya Island has ever seen, and that he totally was the one to stop King Piccolo and probably was also the guy who stopped those aliens who came through like twelve, thirteen years ago."

While Gohan could not personally attest to all of those accolades, he liked to believe they were true. "Why do you know that?"

Thalia tucked her legs beneath herself and leaned forward. "Because I'm a martial artist who can sense ki and put two and two together! How do you not know how I know?! You been living under a rock for your whole life, or what?"

Gohan lived on a mountain, actually, but he decided it would be wisest to not let her know that. "I've only ever heard stories about tournaments." He looked down at the mask again. "This is the first one I have ever been to."

Gohan just told a lie. It was a big one. He felt guilty about it, but he also wanted to believe that it could be the truth somehow, some way.

"No shit? Somebody like you?" Thalia shook her head. "I mean, the way your energy moves, it's not a huge surprise you aren't chomping at the bit to be here, but, like," she furrowed her eyebrows, "really?"

Gohan traced the pattern of the tile with the toe of his boot.

His sheepishness gave him away. "You're a terrible liar," Thalia decided. "And how crappy of you to lie to me after I brought you a present! Just for that--" she moved to flick the side of Gohan's helmet, but he intercepted her hand.

Thalia's energy was no longer compacted the way it had been when they had first met. It flowed much more normally now, and Gohan could tell that, had her blow landed, the helmet would have shattered. 

She raised her eyebrows at his reflexes.

After a minute, he released her.

"C'mon, kid, you don't have to hide behind that thing," Thalia said. "You don't have to hide behind anything, really, if you don't want to. I just brought you that mask because I thought it would make you feel more comfortable."

The mask did make him happy. It was a little sick, that the person throwing Gohan and his family's security into jeopardy was also winning him over so easily.

He had always been too trusting.

"What do you want?" Gohan asked.

Thalia rolled her eyes. "I told you. Press. Attention. To kick Mark Satan's ass."

"With me, specifically."

"Oh. Uhh..." Thalia looked at the ceiling. "I wanted to meet you because you are Son Goku's son and the guy who bruised Terpsichore's ego," she snickered, "Terpsichore wants to meet you because he's pissed and embarrassed as shit that you bruised his ego," she laughed a little louder, "Calliope could really give a crap but thinks you might make a good teacher for our advanced recruits, Melpomene wants to go home, and, um, I don't actually know what Erato wants to see you for. But probably the same as Calliope. That's it."

Gohan nodded. Thalia could be lying, but he wanted to think that she was not. His dad always saw the best in people, but he was almost always in a safe position to do so. Gohan desperately wanted to be like that, too. He ran his thumb over the mask and wondered what the real difference between trust and power was.

"What will you do when you meet the people from... The people who really saved the world?" He asked.

Thalia shrugged. "Erato's got some plan. He's always got some plan. He's a manipulator, you know, and he doesn't like to share all of his machinations. But as for me? Thank 'em. Thank 'em and then ask 'em why in the hell they were so stupid as to face Cell head-on and one by one. With the amount of power they had, all they needed to do was work smarter... as a team, you know, and it would've been over before anybody else even got hurt. It wouldn't exactly have been honorable to gang up on him, but, well, the Earth would much rather be safe than honorable."

Gohan traced the designs of the mask with his fingers. They had worked as a team, in the end. His mother liked to say that Gohan had defeated Cell, but it was really because his father had helped him from beyond death, and that Piccolo, Krillin, Tien, Yamcha, and Vegeta had been right there with him that Cell had been shredded into nothingness. Gohan was useless on his own.

Thalia was not finished. "And also I'd ask them what the hell they did to that delivery boy or whatever so that I don't go about inflating my ki the same way he did. His energy... I could feel it from where I was. He was a wreck. Hell, all the Sundrop Messengers felt like emotional train wrecks, or at least three of 'em did when they got mad. But he..." She scratched her head. "Being put in a position to feel like that so young, and so strongly... That can screw a person up for life."

"You really think so?" Gohan asked. There was a metal circlet designed to go over the mask to hold it close to the face.

"Yeah. You shouldn't just go out there and break yourself into little bitty pieces in order to be able to hit stuff harder. That's like selling your soul to the devil- great in the short term, but horrible in the long run. It's the kind of thing that'll always come back to haunt you."

Selling his soul to the devil? Gohan wondered what Piccolo would say about that analogy.

"You can't just exploit something and not expect any kind of consequence, 'cause that kind of power will destroy you from the inside if you aren't able to control it. You have to be able to grow and mature as a person, too, as you get stronger, or you'll be crushed by the weight of it." Thalia gave Gohan a sideways glance. "I mean, you know that, right?"

Gohan pulled off his helmet and ran a hand through his hair. "I like to think that I'm not strong enough to have run into that problem," he said. "But, well." He smiled. It felt cryptic, even to him. "My dad, though, he was the best for a reason. He pushed his limits and he always knew exactly what they were. He loved the thrill of the fight, and he loved himself."

Thalia watched his uncovered face with interest. "Huh." She furrowed her eyebrows. "Did your father love you?"

"Of course!" Gohan said, laughing at the question. "He's the kind of person that made you happy inside, and that... That made you feel safe just by being near you. That's how I could feel it, anyway." It was so rare for him to be in a position to talk about his father openly.

Thalia nodded slowly. "Okay."

"My little brother, Goten, he asked me what dad was like once, and I told him he was like an angel." Gohan laughed a little more. Son Goku was like an angel, and Piccolo used to be a demon. Those were his heroes.

Thalia chewed on her bottom lip. "Okay. I see. But, um," she looked like she was struggling. 

Gohan could not make himself shut up. "He was almost always laughing about something, and he was always ready to do whatever it took to face anything that came his way. Like it was nothing. He was the bravest and strongest person I've ever met, I think." He smiled down at the mask. "I love him very much."

Thalia shifted her weight and looked up into Gohan's face more intently. "Yeah, but did your father love you that much?"

"I don't understand. I thought I just said--"

_"Did your father love you as much as he loved the thrill of the fight?"_

Gohan was suddenly aware of the sound of the fan motors circulating the air above them. The noise turned into a dull roar.

He pulled the mask over his face and hid behind it. "Of course he did. He must have."


	20. Numbers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Win, lose, whatever. It's the fight itself that matters.
> 
> Right, Videl?

Sevoya peered up at the white and red entrance of the Papaya Island Stadium and held a staring contest with the plaster demons leering back down at her.

This gateway looked just like the one from the pictures her parents had taken together, years ago, only bigger and with that artificial, new building sheen and gleaming, too-white mortar poking out between the bricks. The whole place reminded Sevoya of a theme park rather than a temple. 

It all felt so fake.

She turned around to look into the courtyard. It was completely empty, except for the multicolored debris rattling in the breeze from the sudden absence of the crowd it belonged to. Sevoya had been taking a lap around the free areas of the complex to clear her head when the restroom proved too stuffy for her, so she had only seen the tail end of the mass exodus of people; that weird cult had mentioned Cell and Hercule in the same breath and suddenly everyone had either fled the area to escape the memories or had gone running to their stadium seats in rapt attention.

Sevoya had done neither. She had rooted herself to this very spot and listened to Erato's speech as it blared at her from over the speakers. None of the information he presented was news to her, but to have it broadcasted in front of her face again, in live and living color, was just a bit much for her to handle today after everything else that had happened.

Honestly, Sevoya wished she had run away- she hated these tournaments, she hated her father's insistence on watching them, and she hated having to sit there and silently listen as the human race gloated about the fact that they had been spared total annihilation by some power they were desperate to believe was something explainable, something human.

But she also wished that she had put on her brave face and watched, firsthand, as Hercule Satan's little white lie finally begin to unravel. Sevoya told herself that she should have chosen to stare boldly at the realities of how little humanity understood and how ugly the whole ordeal really was, fear of the unknown be damned. But she had instead stood here like a statue.

Running and hiding upstairs had been what her mother had done as her father had watched the Cell games unfold on the television screen in the basement. Sevoya would not stand for allowing herself to be a coward like her mother had been. But she also could not stomach mimicking the wistful, optimistic denial of her father.

No. Sevoya would not let herself run away from this, but she could not bring herself to face the music, either. She was caught between two things, and found herself suspended in stasis between them.

So, nothing. That's what Sevoya had been doing to deal with the truth behind her mother's murder of her baby sister and subsequent suicide- absolutely nothing.

Erato's call to action may have long since been finished calling to her over the airwaves, but her struggle was not over. Sevoya still had her choices in front of her- she could march into that stadium right now and sit back down by her father, or she could leave through the gates and follow her mother's legacy.

Instead, she followed the signs to the contestant's pavilion and Gohan Son, the only person who wore black the day after Hercule Satan first lied about saving the world.

\---

Videl stared down the huge Melpomene from where she stood on the other side of the dirt ring.

He had been either restraining her or looming over her shoulder since the moment they had met, but had said very little about anything at all- Videl knew almost nothing about him besides the fact that he was enormous and that trying to attack him directly was like throwing yourself headlong into a wall of solid steel.

So when Melpomene opened his mouth, it surprised her. "Little Miss Satan, show me in the ring if what we say about you and your father is true or false- I cannot judge either of you until we have met in combat. Show me if he is weak or strong through the way you fight."

The truth was, Videl doubted. She doubted everything- her own strength, her father's words, the Circle's creed- everything. "I'll show you the truth," she said, her confidence fake, and adopted a loose fighting stance.

"Krav Maga," Melpomene said, reading her pose, "How modern." His face was as stern and unreadable as ever. "Hmph." He brought both hands in front of himself.

The announcer, clad in a new pair of sunglasses, ducked out from between them. "And let the first match of the Tenkaichi Budokai second round begin!"

Melpomene may have an iron grip, but he was big. That was perfect for Videl- he would fall that much harder when she dodged his blows and redirected his attack against himself. His own strength against his own strength. Fire with fire. She did her best to strengthen her resolve and waited patiently for his advance.

Melpomene was in no hurry to attack, either.

"...It seems we have ourselves a stalemate, folks!" The announcer cried. "The grudge match between Videl Satan and, uh, the, uh, Circle... cult... thingy.... representative Mel... Mellow... uh, Mellophone is starting off as a battle of wills! Who will break first, folks?"

Videl kept her eyes on Melpomene but hissed at the announcer. "This is already bad enough as it is, motormouth! Stop making everyone assume that everything I do somehow feeds into my dad's reputation!"

"You mean, it doesn't?" Thankfully, the announcer made sure to turn off his microphone instead of candidly announcing his disbelief to the world.

"You jerk!" Videl hissed, and made the mistake of turning her back on her opponent to scold the announcer. "Of course it doesn't! I am my own person, thank you! I have my own life, and if you think you can just--"

Melpomene was behind her before she even knew it. He gently rested the side of his hand against the back of her neck in a mock blow.

"That is one time I might have killed you," he said.

The announcer's microphone was flipped on and at his mouth in an instant. "And what a bold announcement by Mello... Melfo... Marshmallow! He says he could have ended the fight for Videl right then and there- permanently! But don't forget, folks, that killing your opponent is strictly against the rules in this tournament! I dunno about Mallowcream, but I would hate to have such a tragedy reflect on my organization!" He hinted.

Videl regained her bearings. She whirled around to deliver a kick to Melpomene's ankle and hook her arm around his shoulder to bring him down. Her movements connected, but the giant did not even flinch.

Instead, he grabbed one of her pigtails and pulled her into the air with it. "Long, exposed hair. Cocky," he said.

She cried out and sent a palm strike and a high kick to his jaw. Nothing happened.

"If you could use the Inner Flame, that might have worked," Melpomene said. He poked Videl's windpipe with two fingers. "But still, this is twice you might have died." He dropped her.

She landed gracefully and put all of her force into a blow to Melpomene's gut.

He took it and then pushed Videl so that her midsection landed on his raised knee, but he caught her torso in one hand and pulled his blow before it connected. "I could have crushed your organs and cracked your spine. This is three times."

Videl was admittedly scared now. She quickly lowered herself and slid feet-first beneath Melpomene's bent leg.

He put his foot down and held her to the ground before she could pick herself back up. "Four," he told her.

Try as she might, Videl could neither wriggle out from beneath him nor could her frantic strikes at his foot and ankle convince him to get off of her.

"It seems Videl has found herself in a tight spot!" The announcer cried into the mic.

"Forfeit," Melpomene said. "You have tried, and you have failed. Now, forfeit."

"No!" Videl fought. "I won't give this up- I won't leave until I face my dad and prove that I'm more than the little girl riding his coat tails!"

"Prove it another way," the announcer said to her off-record. "Prove it by being honest about the truth."

Videl stared at him. "What?! Truth? Oh, you're with _them?"_

The announcer lowered his sunglasses and met her eyes. "Look. I'm not with Monotreme's group, and your dad inadvertently signs my paychecks so I shouldn't be talking smack here, but I've seen a lot more tournaments and a lot more fighters than he has. And I know he's not worthy to sit among the champions of the past."

Videl slammed her fist into the compacted dirt at her back. "You... All of you... you think we're so weak?!"

The announcer glanced at Melpomene and then back to Videl. "No. Not weak. It's just that the men and women I've seen in the ring before this one were practically _superhuman_. Compared to them, I think you and your dad are just human. You just lie about being something else."

Videl clawed the air in his direction and tried to mask her tears with rage. "You'd dare call me a--!"

Melpomene silenced her with a little more pressure from his foot. "You move your attention away from the one that could crush you at any time," He said. "You are too naive to have known your father was lying, and too soft to admit it to yourself even if by some chance you had figured it out."

Videl lifted her leg and rammed her toe into the back of Melpomene's knee. Still, her strength did nothing against him.

"Count. She's down," Melpomene commanded.

"Oh," said the announcer. "Right." He looked at Videl. "If what your opponent says is true, then I'm sorry about all of this," he covered his sincerity back over with both his sunglasses and the impenetrable glitz of showmanship. "Annnnnd Videl doesn't seem to be going anywhere, folks! If she can't escape by the time I get to ten, I'm afraid it's all over for her!" He could not stall for her anymore. "One! Two! Three!"

Videl struggled against Melpomene's leg like a wild animal. This was not the way this was supposed to go. She was supposed win this fight, and the next one, and the next one, and then beat her dad at his own game. 

"...Four!"

She had wanted to show both Mark Satan and the world that he was important not only for being the Savior of the Earth, but because he was her father, and dispel the myth that she was only important because she was his daughter. 

"...Five!"

But this was about more than Videl's competitive streak- her dad was supposed to tell her how proud he was of her, and how he was wrong to underestimate her, and say how sorry he was for being so distant and only doting on her when it was convenient or he wanted to control her life.

"...Six!" 

This was her dad's tournament, and Videl had wanted to win him back as a prize.

"...Seven!"

This was her dad's tournament.

So why hadn't he shown his face yet?

Why hadn't he even taken the time to make sure that she was not in the lineup? Surely he knew she was here.

"...Eight!"

Mark Satan was her daddy, and the strongest man in the world. Surely nothing bad could have happened to him. 

Right?

"...Nine!"

Was her daddy even watching?

_"...Ten!"_

Did he even care?

_"And the match is decided, ladies and gentlemen!"_

\---

Sevoya leaned against the wall outside the contestant's area. The heightened security in the next courtyard made her decide to wait here a few more minutes before trying to sneak inside, and she had watched everything happening in the ring from the little monitor hanging on the wall across from her.

She knew that Videl Satan had just lost her match in view of a hushed crowd of thousands, and Sevoya doubted that this was the best time to show her face around the celebrity if she chose to break in, anyway. 

Sevoya was also not sure that she herself was prepared for an encounter with Videl, either.

A short, muscular woman in a cinnamon gi stormed out of the gates surrounding the contestant's area followed by a huge man dressed in olive. Sevoya recognized the man as Melpomene the Circle member, Videl's last opponent. His companion was probably the other Circle representative, Thalia.

"You _ass!_ What were you thinking, breaking her spirit like that?!" Thalia said.

"I was instructed to defeat her utterly and you asked me not to harm her, so I accomplished both." Melpomene said.

Thalia stomped her foot. "And that was seriously the only way you could think to do it?! You are a martial artist, Melpomene, not a robot!"

"...The girl should face the truth like the rest of us. This way, she must do so."

"You hardass motherfucking piece of silicon and literal shit," Thalia scolded. "You could have accomplished all of that in some kinder way. You could have at least let her have a good fight so she at least doesn't look like such a joke- she's not unskilled, after all, she just doesn't know about ki yet. And dammit, this is sport, not war!"

Melpomene was impassive. "What I did was simpler, faster, and followed all of the parameters given to me."

"Do _not_ try to use Occam's razor as an excuse, you--!" the woman put her face in her hands. "Shit. I'm standing here as a hypocrite. Listen," she said, looking up, "I'm sorry for getting so mad. You didn't mean anything bad, and I know it. And see, the thing is, I went too far, too. The kid I gave the mask to- I think I really screwed up. So, like, I need you to do your best to not make it worse. If something happens to me and you end up facing him, please don't--" she spotted Sevoya. "And what are _you_ doing, lurking around and listening in on us?"

Sevoya did not have it in her to give any sass right now. "I wanted to see Gohan So-" she berated herself internally for her slip. "--Saiyaman."

Thalia raised her eyebrows and looked Sevoya up and down. Her expression could only be described as calculating. "Uh-huh," Thalia said. "I see."

"Gohanso was, um, his... his old superhero name, you know? From the, uh, other city that he... used to... protect." Sevoya decided backpedaling was not a going to work. "The security, see, I'm not a fighter so I don't think they will let me in, and--"

Thalia ambled over and slung an arm around Sevoya. "So you're the girl from Saiyaman's big newspaper photoshoot. Your hair is even purpler in person!"

"Excuse me?"

Thalia walked over, a huge grin growing on her face. "Melpomene, why don't you and I see if we can't get her inside, huh?"

"B-but Videl probably wants to see as few people as possible, especially not me, and--"

"Oh, so you know Videl, too? Not just Saiyaman? Does Videl know about "Gohanso", too?" Thalia directed Sevoya through the gates of the contestant's area.

"She... She suspects," Sevoya relented.

Thalia chuckled and waved to the security guards as she strode past them, Sevoya in tow. "Don't you worry. Videl's already gone to the lounge by the dining hall to be alone. We can keep her there." The red headed woman snapped her fingers and pointed at Melpomene, who strode away with huge, methodical strides. As he turned around, Sevoya spotted a blossom of scars covering the base of his neck and head.

Thalia nudged Sevoya. "Say, what's your name, sugarplum?"

The digs at her hair had gradually made Sevoya's backbone grow back. "None of your business. And don't tempt me to ask you if your carpet matches the drapes, too, _Thalia._ "

"Whew!" Said Thalia. "Here I was, thinking how cute your hair was and meant the nickname as a compliment. Feisty! So feisty," she said, and winked before shoving Sevoya into the contestant's pavilion. "That's the spirit."

\---

While it was not really a problem for Yamcha, Vegeta was much heavier than he looked. The massive quantities of food the ruthless warrior ate had to have gone somewhere, or so Yamcha figured. He chuckled to himself as he shifted the man to sit higher on his back.

 

They were not moving exceptionally fast, but Yamcha thought they were still making good time.

Little Trunks flew next to him with his mother wrapped around his neck and waist like a cat stranded on a branch. "You're choking me," the boy complained to Bulma.

"Unlike me, you're basically indestructible, honey, so strengthen yourself with your ki or whatever and suck it up! I don't want to go flying off into the ocean because I move my grip while we are moving!" Bulma never had been much for traveling long distances on anything she or her father did not have a hand in creating- out of mechanical parts, that is. Trunks was most definitely a product of Bulma even though she hated flying with him.

The boy even muttered under his breath in the same growling lilt his mother always used when she got frustrated and wanted to start a fight. "Or you coulda thought to bring one of our capsules rather than insist I take a plane and be "patient like a normal boy for once","

"What did you say to me, young man?!" Bulma fell into her son's trap.

Trunks looked up at her. "I said that maybe you would like it better if Yamcha carried you since he's older and taller and you wouldn't have to choke him to hold on," he lied. The boy would never actually disrespect his mother in sincerity, and never to her face.

Bulma looked at Yamcha. He shook his head. He could let Trunks hold Marron while he carried Bulma, Vegeta, and Oolong all at once, but Yamcha had already decided that it was probably better if Trunks did not see a man other than his father carrying his mother through the skies, especially given their history.

Little decisions like this might make all the difference when the day came to explain to Trunks that, at one time, Yamcha had almost been his daddy and Vegeta had then come to Earth as an unwelcome invader.

Yamcha had been called a lot of things, but he was not about to let himself be perceived as a potential homewrecker by his best friend's son.

"Well, fine! I see how it is. See if I let you get a deal on our company products ever again." Bulma pouted and held Trunks even tighter. 

"Ow! Mom!" 

Puar hovered over and closed Vegeta's jaw so he stopped drooling on Yamcha's shirt. Then, he plopped himself into Vegeta's voluminous plume of hair. Marron laughed at the visual from where she sat cradled in Yamcha's right arm. "Do you think it was a good idea to leave the Sons behind?" The little cat asked.

No. But neither Chi Chi nor Goten would be swayed, and that had convinced the Ox King to stay. "I'm sure they'll be fine. Krillin and Eighteen will probably gather them up and follow us in a minute."

"You know," said Trunks, "If you can manage to drag Goten high enough into the air, he'll stop fighting you and hang on for dear life. He can't fly on his own and is a total baby in the air unless Gohan or the Nimbus are what's carrying him."

"That was pretty harsh," Oolong commented from where he was wrapped around Yamcha's good leg. 

Yamcha agreed. "I thought you and I had a talk about how you were trying not to be so mean, Trunks."

Trunks's eyes widened. "No! I'm not--!"

"Trunks expressed it more like his father than I think he intended to, but he's right. Goten doesn't intuitively trust most things he can't control." Bulma helped her son explain himself.

Yamcha furrowed his eyebrows. "Really? Wow. Goten just looks and acts so much like Goku that I figured he'd be utterly fearless like he was, too."

Bulma shook her head. "But Goku wasn't fearless in the beginning. He learned to be that way."

Yamcha felt Pu'ar straighten Vegeta's head again. "He wasn't?" The cat asked.

"No. He was scared of my car when I first found him on Mount Paozu. And he was scared of me, and my capsules, and of the fact that girls," Bulma snorted at a memory Yamcha had only heard about secondhand, "that girls don't have the same downstairs as boys. He only became fearless when he realized that none of those things- and anything else he came across- could really hurt him. Then, I think he just assumed that he would be impervious to anything and everything so long as he met it head-on, or after he had already proven to himself that he'd done it once. Like dying. Or other things, like..." she frowned.

Yamcha had once accused Bulma of being shallow and stupid when they had first broken up, and then learned very quickly how very wrong he was when she had slowly and methodically dissected his psyche right then and there. Bulma was not only a certified genius when it came to machines, but sharp enough to understand the minds of other people as well. Whatever she was thinking about in that brilliant brain of hers was probably pretty close to the truth whether she shared it or not.

The superficiality of Bulma's youth had been just that- superficial. 

"Things like what?" Trunks asked.

Bulma hugged her son closer, but Yamcha could tell that it was not because she was scared of losing her grip. "Trunks, have I ever told you about the time I had to explain to your father what a pencil sharpener was?"

"No," the boy said, glum about his mother's abrupt subject change.

"Well, before I programmed his training equipment to measure this kind of thing, Vegeta wanted to keep a record of-"

"Bulma, hold that thought," Yamcha said. He turned to look in the direction they had just come from. A substantial ki was heading their way, and rapidly.

"Is it Krillin, come to tell us we gotta turn around because we forgot someone?" Oolong groaned. "Just what we need. This midair trip was already torturous enough on my arms without yet another holdup."

"Stop complaining, Oolong!" Pu'ar chided.

"Don't tell me what to do!" Oolong shot back. "Say, Yamcha, if you're gonna have a friendly visit with this new guy, can I hold onto Bulma for the remainder of this trip? Trunks is only carrying one person and I think Bulma and I could stand to have a little intimate piggyback action--"

"No, Oolong," everyone but Vegeta and Trunks shouted.

The stranger in the distance grew closer and revealed himself to be a man in a grey ao the and casts on one arm and one leg.

"My," the man said. "Aren't you a lively bunch."

"Uh," greeted Yamcha. "Are you on your way to the hospital in South City, too?"

The man's gold eyes widened, and then he laughed. "Oh, no. I was already treated in West City, actually. Very early this morning. Wouldn't you know it, a man in the desert and I had a disagreement. I ended up like this. And he," the stranger politely gestured to Vegeta, "he ended up just like that."

Great. Vegeta had managed to piss off the enemy before Yamcha had even known they were facing one.

"What did you do to my Vegeta to make him like this?" Bulma cut right to the point.

The man frowned. "Actually, nothing. Absolutely nothing, in fact, besides speaking to him."

"Yeah, Vegeta's not a huge fan of people doing that," Oolong illuminated.

"Yes. Well." Terpsichore cleared his throat. "My phrasing was extremely misleading in my favor. I apologize. It was Thalia who managed to seal Vegeta's energy before he killed me, and then he did the rest to himself." He shook his head. "But I digress. I am Terpsichore. I am the primary instructor for the High Northeastern Circle of the Inner Flame." Terpsichore bowed gracefully despite the limitations of his injuries.

"Whatever you want from us, man, it isn't worth trying to take," Yamcha told him.

Terpsichore scowled at his broken arm and leg. "Yes, I've discovered. So that is why I am approaching you like this. I only want information."

Yamcha looked to Bulma.

"We don't want to give it to you," they both said at the same time, and Yamcha turned to leave. 

"Come on, Trunks," Yamcha encouraged. Trunks reluctantly began to follow.

Terpsichore was not deterred. "Calliope was quite fond of you and your friend Son Goten," he called to the boy. "I apologize for starting off on the wrong foot with your father. It had never been our intention for things to turn out this way."

Yamcha watched Trunks from the corner of his eye as the boy slowed down.

"Don't let him hold you up," Yamcha advised, moving to float in front of the boy. "He's just trying to get into your head."

Trunks shook his head. "I need to do this," he said, and turned to Terpsichore. "My father doesn't like to apologize," he told the strange man, "So please tell Calliope that I'm sorry that he hurt her. He was... he was wrong," Trunks declared. "I wanna say that I'm sorry for him, and I want her to know that."

"Trunks!" Bulma scolded. "This man is a stranger. You shouldn't talk to strangers!"

Yamcha had not known the Trunks of another time very well, but he remembered apologizing to him, in words and in quiet glances, about the reality of his father. Now, though, as this Trunks apologized for Vegeta to a complete stranger, Yamcha felt himself more unsettled than he would like to admit.

Terpsichore tilted his chin and absorbed the little boy with a cryptic expression in his eyes. "I see," he said. "I will tell her." He bowed low. "Thank you for your time. I apologize that I can offer no assistance to you in this moment." He turned around. "Perhaps we shall meet again," Terpsichore added, and just like that, he rode the wind back to Papaya Island.

\---

Sevoya knew it was Gohan Son even without being able to see the odd sheen of his hair or the bright, happy colors of the Great Saiyaman outfit. He stood in the doorway, framed by the light of the outside, and watched the match unfolding in front of him. Next to him stood the small bald fighter- Krillin, sometimes called Tripitaka by Hass's memorabilia- and his short form contrasted strongly with Gohan's taller, svelte silhouette.

A beautiful blonde woman appeared between them from the other side, victorious. She and Gohan switched places, with her becoming observer and he the next contestant. Krillin sent a soft glance and a caring hand to the woman once Gohan had his back to them both. 

The blonde's opponent limped through a moment later with a broken nose and escaped to the infirmary.

"Go on! Go watch," Thalia said to her. "Go see. He's very good- I can tell already."

Sevoya tentatively took a few steps forward. Krillin turned around. 

He regarded her cream dress and inappropriately fashionable red shoes. "Um, excuse me, but I don't remember seeing you in the first round. Are you lost?" Krillin asked. "Because, uh, no offense, but you don't look like you belong here."

"I wanted to talk to Saiyaman," Sevoya said.

Krillin raised his eyebrows. "Say, are you Sevoya?"

Oh. "Yes," Sevoya said. "I know you from my papa's posters and books. You're Krillin. But how do you know who I am?"

Apparently, Krillin was not very impressed that Sevoya had heard of him. "Geez! Good! Your dad is worried sick, you know- he and Chi Chi are looking all over for you right now. What were you thinking, wandering off like that and not telling anyone?"

She had not had the mental fortitude to stand in a crowd that wanted to talk about miracles and the Cell Games in one breath. Coming to the Tenkaichi Budokai alone had made her feel claustrophobic; to learn that her one and only friend was closely related to the things she begrudged her father for and to face the ghost of the past in one fell swoop was not something she had been prepared for. "I hate being here," she said. "I hate these tournaments. I couldn't stand to sit and spectate anymore, so I came here."

Krillin frowned and glanced at the blonde woman, who stared back. "Wow," Krillin said, but kept his other observations to himself. "Since you apparently know my name, this is my wife, Eighteen."

Eighteen's unexpression never faltered. "You should watch Gohan compete," she said. "At least have enough respect in your heart to support him. You're the whole reason he came here, after all."

Sevoya took the challenge. "Don't misunderstand me," she said as she moved past the two of them, "What I just said about tournaments does not extend to him, or watching him fight." She surveyed the stadium.

Gohan stood on the right, and his opponent, a rotund man twice his height, filled the left.

The announcer began the match.

The large man swung at Gohan, and the boy sidestepped it and kicked at his opponent's foot to throw him off balance. All of his girth hit the ground, and Gohan reached over to lightly tap a place on the side of his neck. Gohan's opponent immediately fell unconscious.

The announcer counted to ten, and then it was all over. 

Gohan bowed and slowly made his way back to the contestant's pavilion while the Tournament staff brought out a stretcher and puzzled themselves over how to fit the enormous man on it.

"Yeah, Gohan's not really feelin' the love for the Tenkaichi Budokai, either," Krillin remarked. "But I guess that means me and that Circle lady are next once they get that guy off the dirt. You think it's against the new conduct rules to help 'em?"

Sevoya studied her friend. He was reserved and in all black, and she was in white, just like the day they had first met.

He stopped in front of her and watched her through the eyes of his mask.

"I'm sorry," Sevoya eventually said, and looked at the ground. "I'm sorry this happened today."

Gohan only nodded and took Krillin's place to stand next to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...so how's this angst working out for you? I thought we'd see Nameks but it wasn't in the cards since I broke this chapter and last chapter into two and then rearranged some things to fit in here.
> 
> We are getting close to the point where I have to make a decision between Sevoya/Gohan, Dende/Gohan, or Gohan forever alone. While pieces of the former two (and arguably the latter one) are all relevant to the plot and will appear in some respect anyway, if you have any opinions on the endgame, you better speak your piece now or I'm deciding and you'll have to like it.
> 
> Thank you as always to those who take the time to read this, and even more thanks to those who choose to talk about it with me!


	21. For What It's Worth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Tournament comes to a close.

Tripitaka was a short little bastard. Thalia was amazed that he had barely grown since the twenty third Tenkaichi Budokai. In fact, the only thing different about him was the subtle traces of age creeping into his face.

“Hey, lady,” he said from across the earthen ring, “don’t give me that look. I know what you’re thinking. And I’ve got news for ya- you aren’t exactly the tallest person I’ve ever seen, either.

Thalia raised her eyebrows. “I wasn’t thinkin’ about how short you are,” she lied. “I was thinkin’ about how funny-lookin’ you are.”

Most of her energy was freely accessible by now, and honestly, she was glad. Tripitaka- that is, Krillin- moved like someone who could probably blast her into nothingness if he wanted to.

“Ladies and gentlemen, to my right I have the ever-confident and ever-butch Thalia!” The announcer cried into his mic and gestured towards her. “Your boss introduced you to us, but why don’t you tell us a little about the you outside of the Circle of Life, hm?”

Krillin did not try to hide his snickers at the announcer’s backhanded appraisal. Thalia decided that he was a man after her own heart.

She snatched the microphone away from the announcer. “Yeah, it’s my dream to one day kick the ass of everybody at the tournament so I can retire and then grow my hair back out,” she said. “Maybe today’ll be the day my fantasy becomes reality.” It was the truth, just twisted and extremely generalized. Thalia handed the mic back to its owner.

“You stole the words right from my mouth,” Krillin muttered to her.

“Well,” said the announcer, “I see. That’s… Well, that’s one I have never heard before. Moving on!” He gesticulated towards Krillin. “The little man to my left may look funny-”

“I thought we had an understanding after all these years, man!”

“-but he is one of the greatest fighters I have ever had the privilege of witnessing in action!” The announcer took a breath. “Longtime fans should have figured out who he is by now, but in case you don’t recognize the iconic bald head and six markings of Tripitaka, the noseless wonder, the little-chestnut-that-could, student of Master Roshi’s Turtle School, and foil to The Monkey King, then let me shed some light on the subject for ya! It is my great pleasure to formally introduce Krillin to you all once again, folks!”

Krillin looked absolutely touched. “Oh. Um, thanks.”

“If you would, will you share with me and the people in the nosebleeds what you’ve been doing since the last time we’ve seen you?” The announcer held the microphone out to Krillin.

“It’s actually not all that exciting, really.” The sharp eye Krillin cast towards Thalia told her that she had better not mention how her Circle had plastered his face on the jumbo screen above them hardly two hours before. “I got married and had a daughter, and right now, we all live with my martial arts master.”

“Married and with a kid! Congrats, my man! Say, is your wife a student of Roshi’s, too?”

Krillin shook his head. “Eighteen, Roshi’s student? Oh, no.” He laughed. “Hell no. But she is here today to compete.” He turned and waved at the blonde woman watching from the doorway of the contestant’s pavilion.

Thalia was absolutely positive that Eighteen was at least part machine, but in a different way than Melpomene. The woman had no ki to speak of- absolutely none, in fact, which was eerie- even though her grip had cut through Thalia’s skin like it was nothing. Melpomene, on the other hand, was still a living person, and felt like one.

“Obviously, being short and funny to look at didn’t hold you back from the finer things in life,” the announcer joked with the crowd.

Krillin rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah.”

“Well, folks,” the announcer said, “I hope you’re ready for this next fight, ‘cause,” he waited for Krillin and Thalia both to take their stances, “it’s time to let the match begin!”

“Hey, Thalia, be straight with me here,” Krillin said to her from behind a defensive palm, “what did you do to my friend Saiyaman over there?”

There was no point in lying. “Nothing. We had a chat about your best friend, that’s all.”

Krillin’s guard was perfect, as was his poker face. “Why would you talk to him about Goku?”

Unfortunately for him, Thalia already knew the information he was trying to obfuscate. “Don’t play stupid with me, Tripitaka, you and I both know he’s Son Goku’s son.”

“It seems the fighters are postponing their match for a little chat!” The announcer cried. “But I’m sure we’ll get to the action in a minute. We always do. I’ve seen quite a few standoffs in my day!”

“Whatever,” Krillin said, and charged.

Thalia blocked and went for his legs before he could really reach her- she was taller than he was, thank God- but his ankle and fist felt mysteriously like open air.

She heard laughter circle around her as Krillin’s afterimage faded. 

“What, you thought I would make it that easy?” A plethora of hazy Tripitaka appeared in a circle around her. Most of them were making rude gestures at her.

Thalia knew this trick. She waited and timed a skyward kick for the moment that the real Krillin would descend down for an aerial attack. “I can sense your energy, old man.”

Krillin reappeared and somehow twisted his body to the side of Thalia’s foot and got her in the face with his own. “Old man?! get your eyes checked, lady!”

She held her posture, and so Krillin planted his other foot on her face and used her head as a springboard to leap away. 

“So, what did you say to my buddy in the mask?” Krillin took a new stance where he landed, and waited while Thalia glared at him.

The announcer filled the fight’s dead time. “A dazzling display by Krillin, folks! How will his opponent respond?”

Thalia rubbed her cheek and eye- they were going to look nasty in a minute, ki shields be damned- and darted around the dirt ring to encircle Krillin. She mimicked his afterimages and, instead of finishing with an attack from above, went low for his legs.

Krillin jumped over it and sent a kick to Thalia’s stomach. She caught it and tried to punch him likewise, but he grabbed her arm midway and hit her in the side of the neck with a flat chop.

Thalia’s vision faded out for a moment and she dropped him. She never lost her footing, though.

“So,” Krillin asked her again as he took a new stance, “what did you say to my buddy?”

“I asked him about the kind of person Son Goku was!” Thalia admitted, surprising Krillin by pushing his guarding arm away and finally landing a blow to the face behind it.

Krillin worked past the pain, danced around her fist, and slammed Thalia with a palm to the abdomen followed by a kick to the feet.

Thalia had to take the full force of the hit to her center, but caught the blow to her legs halfway and sent her arms down to strike Krillin on both of his shoulders. She hit nothingness as he suddenly moved out of the way so fast that he seemed to magically teleport behind her.

Thalia’s father had taught her to move like that, too, and so she did.

“Our contestants have gotten serious, now!” The announcer said as Thalia and Krillin both shuffled behind one another like two cards in a dealer’s hand.

Thalia struck at the back of Krillin’s bald head and yanked his arm away when he reached behind to intercept her. She then delivered a knee to his back, but Krillin broke out of her grip and sidestepped out of the brunt of the attack. 

Tripitaka was fed up with such close combat, apparently- he finally increased his ki and turned to kick his opponent in the side. Thalia was sent into the air. 

She stopped herself from falling outside of the dirt ring by ceasing to fall at all.

“Amazing, folks! Thalia can float in the air just like a helium balloon!”

Krillin was not as impressed. “What did Gohan tell you?”

Thalia levitated into the ring and waited in the air. “He said his dad was a wonderful guy.” She already felt guilty enough about upsetting Son Gohan and did not relish the thought of listening to Tripitaka himself voice what her conscience was already screaming at her.

“And then what?” Krillin could care less about Thalia’s feelings. “There’s more to it than just that. Don’t hide it. What made him so upset?”

Thalia ignored the question and brought herself closer to the center of the packed dirt ring. 

“Answer me!” Krillin appeared in the air in front of her and blocked her path with a brutal blow to the jaw.

“Oh,” winced the announcer into the mic.

Krillin’s punch included a ki blast on its front end, and it fucking hurt. Thalia hit the dirt near the edge, but was still in the match.

“Dude!” Thalia cried, pulling herself up. “That was absolutely, needlessly brutal!” She cradled the forming burns on her face and immediately jerked her hands away at the smarting pain. “Uncalled for!”

“Uncalled for?!” Krillin got close- really close- in a matter of milliseconds. His voice dropped to a whisper. “You and your people have this whole stadium practically hostage, and then you bully an uninterested kid into your dog and pony show to prove who-knows-what, and then you have the nerve to tell me that that was uncalled for?!”

Thalia was prepared for his next volley of hand-to-hand attacks and matched him blow-for-blow. She even managed to gain a little ground thanks to her advantage in height.

“I’ve been keeping my energy on the down-low so as to not pose a danger to these people, and then you go and sucker punch me in the face with something like that!” Thalia shouted, hands punching out patterns in the air. She supposed she could start pulling out all of the stops now, but it seemed so childish to her to let Krillin make her show more of her hand so easily.

“And I’ve been roped into playing your game along with everybody else!” Krillin caught her arm and dove beneath it. “Don’t try and make yourself out to be the nice one here!” His foot collided with the underside of her chin. 

Tripitaka was sly- he preferred to fake Thalia out and nullify her attacks rather than try to overpower her, and, when he could, he liked to wait for the most opportune moments to strike rather than go straight for her. All in all, he fought like a man used to having the disadvantage. He was good at it, too.

Thalia admired him.

She fell onto her back, but pushed Krillin away with a quick burst of ki- she made it short and concentrated so it would fizzle out before it made it anywhere near anyone in the audience- on her way down.

He blocked the energy wave and let his heels make trenches in the ground for the distance of the blast. “And now your kid gloves come off. See, don’t go pretending you're a saint.” Tripitaka said, his clothes smoking. “We’re sinners, every single one of us. The difference between us here is, you started it.”

“Real mature, man.” Still, Thalia considered the truth and the irony of Krillin’s words versus his appearance. She got back to her feet and took another stance. 

“I never said I wasn’t childish,” Krillin returned. “But just remember- children start fights. It takes an adult to finish them.”

Wow, folks!” The announcer interjected as Thalia and Krillin stared each other down. “It doesn’t get much more impressive than this!”

“I’ll ask again. What did you do to Son Gohan?” Krillin said.

Thalia gritted her teeth. “I said something I shouldn’t have, okay?”

“Yeah, like?”

“I stupidly and accidentally started talking shit, but it turned out that there was a little bit of truth to it.” Thalia focused her ki. “I threw some shade at his hero, okay?”

“Shade like what?”

Suddenly, childishness did not seem like so horrible a sin if it could make Krillin hush. Thalia let her energy run through her freely. She felt her muscles expand to ridiculous proportions and then immediately contract into harder, denser versions of themselves.

She had enhanced herself like this in front of a mirror once, out of curiosity. It was not a pretty change by any means.

“Uh,” gawked Krillin.

“Woah,” the announcer said. “It seems Thalia is getting pretty juiced on command! Is that… I don’t actually know if that’s legal to do in the Tenkaichi Budokai?”

Thalia’s father belonged to a long line of ki masters. They were martial artists, too, but it was not their primary art, and so they did not use the term as their formal title. This technique was one perfected by her grandfather.

“Don’t worry. This is legal,” Thalia said. “But the amount of ass I’m about to whoop shouldn't be!”

She rushed Krillin so quickly that he did not have time to do anything about it. A quick jab to the face and strike to the legs forced him down onto his hands and knees, and she drove her elbow down on the top of his head like a hammer to a nail.

A crater formed in the dirt as Krillin’s face hit the ground.

The announcer was flabbergasted. “Dang, folks!”

Normally, Thalia’s energy constantly fought inside of her and expanded by way of training in a self-imposed and never ending battle. The trick to living in a continuous, sealed state was to be hyper vigilant about how much energy every single action took and be   
absolutely in tune with the body’s limits at all times. Otherwise, a person would end up either dead or like that asshole Vegeta. 

It was tiring for Thalia to live that way, but the payoff was enormous over time.

Tripitaka scrambled to his feet. Apparently, he was not fazed by a little punishment. “Holy shit,” Krillin spat out along with the dirt in his mouth, “where the hell did that come from?!” 

The other setback to the ki expansion technique was that, since Thalia’s opposing forces of equilibrium had grown so massive and constant, her energy had to be unknotted from itself gradually rather than released all at once. She had set the dominoes in motion for this moment a full two hours ago.

“Doesn't matter where it came from. Be concerned with where it’s going!” Thalia moved like lightning across the dirt and presented her opponent with a multitude of blows. He matched and dodged every one, and soon the two were using the air above the match grounds as a battlefield.

“Ladies and gentlemen, it’s been over a decade since I’ve had to say this, but the contestants are moving so fast that I can’t see them! If you start snapping photographs of the open air now, you might be able to get some insight once you go get those puppies developed!” The announcer sounded both absolutely thrilled and aggravated all at the same time.

The truth of it was, Thalia was gradually wearing Tripitaka down. He proved just as fast as she was, and more cunning, but Thalia was just plain stronger. Each hit he blocked took more out of him than he could return.

They broke apart after what felt like an eternity and began another standoff. Thalia was lightly sweating. Krillin was winded.

The announcer’s voice echoed loud and clear through the open air. “It would seem that Thalia is wearing down Krillin’s experienced resolve, folks! Can he turn this around before it’s too late?”

“Your endurance is impressive, especially for such an old guy,” Thalia remarked.

“Yeah, well. What can I say? I’m a glutton for punishment,” Krillin gasped. “What kind of Turtle would I be if I weren’t?”

Thalia laughed. “I hate to tell ya this, but-”

“Please don’t tell me that this isn’t even your final form,” Krillin held up a hand and interrupted her. “I’m too old to deal with that crap anymore.”

Thalia was dumbfounded. “Huh? Final form? What, am I gonna, like, literally transform?” She furrowed her eyebrows. “I know I just made myself bulk the hell up, but I’m not about to, like,” she grasped for an analogy, “start pupating and turn into a butterfly or something. This is as good as it gets.”

Krillin shook his head. “Thank Dende, Kami, Kaioh, and whoever else I forgot to mention that might be watching over me today.” He covered the distance between the two of them and swung a punch. Thalia angled her head so that Krillin’s fist hit the open space over her shoulder.

Krillin sent another punch Thalia’s way and she ensured that he barely missed her. His next kick would have landed, too, had she not caught it with her arm and then pushed his leg away so that he spun off balance.

“Bad news, bud. My energy is a slow burn,” Thalia said as she deftly caught his return fire of ki. “My ki rises every second I stand here, and it’s not gonna stop any time soon.” She kicked Krillin in the side and his body made a dent in the ring where it landed.

“Folks, it looks as though Thalia’s mysterious beefcake second wind technique has put Krillin in some serious trouble!” The announcer noted.

“I thought you said you weren’t gonna transform,” Krillin muttered, pulling himself back out of the dirt. “Liar. You’ve been doing it this whole fight and you didn’t even have the courtesy to stand around and scream about it while I crapped my pants in preparation.” His eyes narrowed and he looked for all the world like the sardonic and sly little boy Thalia had seen in the pictures of him taken before she had even been born. “You think that just because you’re stronger than I am means you’re gonna win?”

Thalia hustled over to Krillin and aimed a whirling kick to his neck. He threw a bolt of energy at her abdomen and slammed her leg away from him with a thrust of his palm.

Thalia stumbled and wobbled, but found her footing and dove back in with her fists for another go at her opponent.

With a grunt, Krillin shot another volley of ki at Thalia to try and prevent her from getting in close. This time, though, she was ready to absorb it- Thalia caught the energy he threw and it dissipated into the colorless aura seeping out from her body. Her advance continued.

“I learned lots of neat tricks that you can do with other people’s energy and a hardy constitution,” Thalia said as she moved into her opponent’s face. “Your strength becomes mine every time you try that.” She stopped the fist Krillin sent to her face and bullied him dangerously close to the edge of the ring with her return strikes. Thalia’s advantage in height coupled with her drastically increasing strength made it all too easy for her to take control and box Tripitaka in.

Krillin crossed his arms above his head to hold one of Thalia’s downward strikes at bay. The force of it still sent him to his knees, and Thalia smashed her foot into his gut and swore she could see the shape of it protrude from his back for a second.

Krillin fell forwards onto the ground and heaved.

Somewhere in the background, Thalia heard Son Gohan shout his name.

“Things look dire for Krillin, folks, but so long as he stays in the ring on his knees and not splayed out on the ground, he is still in the match!” Thalia saw the announcer signal for medics to come on standby.

“Yeah, I do think I’ll win,” Thalia admitted. She could not bring herself to literally kick the one and only Tripitaka while he was down, so she settled for a verbal onslaught instead. “I dwarf you in terms of power. It’s just the way it is.”

“Of course,” Krillin wheezed. “Of course you do.” 

Thalia had control, now, and she intended to use it. “Why’re you so concerned with kicking my ass over what I did or didn’t say to the kid? Isn’t your friend in the mask strong enough to fight us all on his own if he wants us to shut up?”

Krillin looked up at Thalia from where he kneeled on the ground. “Gohan is more than just Goku’s son,” he gasped out. “He’s the heir apparent for the legacies all of us, all of Goku’s friends. We are all his family. Even that guy with the pointy hair and the bad attitude- Vegeta- he’ll never admit it, and I don’t think I’ll ever like including him in the count, but,” Krillin coughed. Thalia winced when she noticed blood mixed in his spit. “Gohan is his to watch over, too. He’s the firstborn to a legacy of both destruction and hope.”

Thalia crossed her arms and waited as he broke into another bout of coughs.

Krillin inhaled. “We took too much from him already. We- I- have failed him so many times before and,” he heaved, “it wasn’t right. So leave him out of your schemes. I’m not too proud to lower my head and beg you on the off chance it might work.” He clutched his stomach in a bow and trembled.

“The repentant and humble monk, Tripitaka,” Thalia mused. “I hate to tell you this, but your groveling to me doesn’t mean much in the grand scheme of things. We’re still gonna ask about Son Gohan. We’re still gonna find out about the Cell Games. And we’re still gonna find out about what they have to do with you, too, whether you want us to or not. The fact that you even fought me at all doesn’t mean much, either. You’ve lost.”

Krillin’s head snapped up. “It means _everything_ ,” he countered. The edge in his voice was bloody, nasty, and raw, like an old wound that had ripped back open because it had never fully healed. “I know what it means to fail, but every fight I’ve had that has ever meant something has _never,_ ” he suddenly thrust his hands out and shot the ground beneath Thalia’s feet, “been about proving that I am the strongest!” When Thalia jumped in surprise, Krillin grabbed her arm, fell on his back to pull her over his head, and then used his foot to support her abdomen as he tossed her into the grass outside the ring.

Thalia blinked, stunned, as she hit the ground.

“It’s about proving that my efforts have _worth!_ Proving that I would give up everything to show my loyalty,” Krillin was meanwhile shakily pushing himself up from the ground from within the ring, “and then I would do it again, every time- and that my sacrifice means something!” Tears gathered in the corners of his eyes as blood and saliva fell from his mouth. “My whole life, I have failed in _every possible way_ , and it’s obvious that I lost this fight, too, but,” Krillin pointed to Thalia, “I’m not afraid of losing anymore. And you’re out. You won’t advance. And that means everything, because _I_ fought you and _I_ made sure that you wouldn’t. It’s a small thing, but I won your game and held the line so that Gohan did not have to. So go home.” He wheezed as he made it to his feet. “Shut up and go home,” he coughed out again. “And take your Circle with you. Don’t trouble us anymore.”

“And the victor by way of ring-out is Krillin!” The announcer cried, ushering both Son Gohan and the medics to the ring as Tripitaka fell back down to the ground.

Thalia hopped to her feet as Krillin was eased onto the stretcher. 

“Almost any of his movements will agitate the damage because it’s right in his center,” she heard one of the medics whisper to the other. “We’ll need to be careful as we move him.” The man turned to the masked Gohan. “Thank you for your concern, but please step away. We will take care of him.”

Gohan hesitated, and then nodded as he acquiesced.

Thalia watched as Krillin was taken away. “Geez,” she said, to no one in particular. “I can’t do anything without making everyone upset today,” she muttered.

Gohan stared at her through his mask. His expression was unreadable and his ki fluctuated in that unsettling pattern of extremes.

“I’m sorry,” Thalia said to him, looking at her bare feet. “We’re here for lots of things today, and we won't back down until we make ‘em happen.” She shook her head. “But I didn’t want it to be personal like this. I thought it wouldn’t have to be this… dramatic and it would turn out for the best.”

Gohan’s voice was muffled by the constant stare of The Monkey King. “You came to a fight,” he said, “looking to make friends?”

Thalia furrowed her eyebrows. “I never thought of it like that, but,” she inhaled. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess I did.” She kept her mouth shut about how Son Goku was the inspiration for her attitude.

Gohan probably already knew, though. He turned and walked away. 

Behind him, Eighteen had entered the ring to await her match against Melpomene. She stared at Thalia and screwed her normally impassive face into an expression that dripped with venom.

Thalia wondered if she had bitten off more than she could chew.

\---

Ox sighed as his daughter darted through the aisles of the stadium. He was too big to scurry through the rows of people the same way that she could, and was knocking people out of their seats both left and right as he tried to keep up. Behind him, Hass was faring little better- Ox was taller and wider than their new friend, but thinking that the task any easier for the younger man was like trying to dismiss an elephant as less unwieldy in a crawl space than an armored tank.

“Chi Chi, darlin’, slow down!” Ox cried.

She ignored him and hurried forth, muttering curses under her breath as she dragged her youngest son along.

By the time Ox and Hass finally made it to the open walkways, they had long since lost sight of Chi Chi. Ox twiddled his fingers together. “Aw, consarn it, I’ve lost m’daughter, too, now.” He shook his head.

Hass glanced around. “She probably went to try and find her son,” he said. “Maybe we should go down to the Contestant’s pavilion and see.”

Ox looked over at Hass. “Mebbe, but what about yer sweet lil’ Sevoya? We gotta find ‘er, too.”

“My little girl might be down there,” Hass said. He seemed much less jumpy now than when they were first introduced.

Ox nodded and started down the ramp. “Okay,” he said. “If yer sure. But if you see yer daughter, tell me an’ we’ll stop and I'll help you get ‘er first. You don’t hafta be so concerned on behalf a’ my Chi Chi.”

Hass’s nervous quirks made themselves known again across his cheeks and he scuffed his feet. “Aw, well, i-it’s not any trouble, really. She’s a lovely lady and, uh, I figure I should, you know, help her if, uh, if I can.”

Ox grinned and slapped him on the back. “You’re a good guy, Hass! I like ya! I hope you get ta be part a’ the fam’ly like Chi Chi keeps hopin’! It’d be like havin’ another son again!”

“I- uh?” Hass’s eyes grew big and starry. “Really?”

“Yeah! Chi Chi thinks my lil’ grandson Gohan might marry your purdy Sevoya one day soon!” Ox laughed. “Then that’d make me your sorta-Papa-in-law!”

Hass’s smile turned watery. “Oh. Oh, yeah. She mentioned. I, well. Uh huh. That would be... great, yeah.” He swallowed and started a quick pace down the ramp to the entrance of the stadium. “Let’s, uh, go down and find our girls, huh?”

Ox bumbled down the ramp after him. “Hey, wait, it’s s’okay if you don’t feel all comfy with it now,” he encouraged. “I won’t get upset. Sevoya’s your baby girl and it’s perf’ctly nat’ral to get all sad that she might leave the nest an’ not jes’ be only yours anymore. Betwixt you an’ me, I cried before my baby’s weddin’. An’ durin’ her weddin’.” He considered it. “An’ after her weddin’, too, actually.” Ox grinned. “An’ heck, I was the one ta give her ta Goku in the first place!”

Hass walked faster. “Yeah, that’s… That’s what it is, sure,” Ox heard him sniff and saw him wipe his face with the back of his arm.

“There, there, I know it’s hard ta watch ‘em grow up,” Ox said as he caught up to his new friend and put an arm around his shoulder. “But I promise that she’ll be happy! My Gohan’s the strongest guy in the whole world, and he’s a sweetie- he made friends with the saber tooth tiger that tried ta eat ‘im instead a’ hurtin’ the guy, ya know? And he taught Goten all about how ta look after baby dinosaurs, and then he looked after his mama and baby brother when his daddy died. And he’s the one who,” Ox realized he should probably not talk about the Cell Games in detail so soon, “uh, he, uh, he likes stuffed animals.”

Hass nodded. “He’s… I’m sure he’s a great kid,” he sniffled.

The two of them made it to the breezeway between the stadium seating and the Stadium courtyard, with Hass biting his lip to hold back tears and Ox awkwardly hugging him the whole way. The two huge men came to a stop when Ox could not stand to see any more of Hass’s heartbreak.

“Jes’ let it all out, my friend!” Ox soothed, lifting the distraught Hass off of the ground in a bear hug. “You gotta get it out n’ be strong for when you see your lil’ girl again! She cain’t see her daddy prematurely cryin’!” Ox began to mist himself. “My grandson gettin’ married already… Time flies, don’t it?” He started to bawl before he could help himself.

Hass awkwardly patted Ox on the back, and the bigger man started to weep into his collar. “It feels like only yesterd’y Gohan was a baby in his lil’ red hat with ol’ Son Gohan’s memento plopped on th’ top a’ it, chasin’ after the mountain butterflies an’ askin’ me ‘bout my horns!”

“Uh,” said Hass, drying up, “there, there. It’ll, um, be okay?”

The two carried on like that until a sudden clatter from above them pulled their attention elsewhere.

Hercule Satan looked down at them from one of the stadium’s external vents. The metal cover lay on the ground below. 

“Uh,” Mister Satan said after a beat, “Congratulations on your grandson’s engagement. I’m sure, uh, he’ll be very-”

Ox and Hass both bristled and released one another. “You!” They shouted in tandem, and Hass picked up the metal vent cover and threw it at Mister Satan’s head. It connected.

Mister Satan lost his balance from the hit and landed on the ground with a spectacular thud.

Hass was on him in an instant. “Do you even know how much trouble you’ve caused?!” He roared.

“Haw! Of course I do! But it’s, uh, nothing I can’t fix! Those Circle liars are about to get a taste of why I’m the World Champ! Yeah!” Mister Satan leapt to his feet and planted his hands on his hips. “I was just on my way to go heroically, uh, stop this Erotic guy or whatever his name is! Yeah!”

Gohan had explicitly told both his mother and his grandfather not to hold a grudge against the false savior, and Ox intended to do as his grandson asked. Still, it grated on his nerves to watch this man try to wiggle out of the repercussions of his actions.

“If you’re really s’ strong and great,” Ox asked, “why’d you hafta sneak through the air vents? How’d Hass get you down s’ easy? Why didn’t you fly?” Ox did not feel the need to mention that he himself was wickedly strong, but incapable of ki manipulation on account of being an Ox-person. He knew a fraud when he saw one and extra information would only complicate matters.

“Yeah,” Hass added as he towered over the sweating Mister Satan, “tell us about those magic tricks that cult just used, Champ, and then tell us how you would have stopped them.”

Mister Satan held his hands over his head and put his palms together. “Fine! Okay, okay, you got me- I… I lied! I was sneaking away from where that cult trapped me because I knew I was gonna get ripped apart when everybody found out about it! But please!” His huge blue eyes searched Ox and Hass’s faces. “I’ve gotta get to the Contestant’s area! Please at least let me find my daughter so I can make sure she gets out of here! My baby girl’s innocent!”

\---

Melpomene watched Eighteen closely as he entered the ring. He had already analyzed her before from observation, but took the time to validate his earlier consensus that she was:

beautiful

human

female

biochemically enhanced

mechanically augmented

and furious, based on her expression and body language, but he was unable to glean anything about her combat style. Her moves were too perfect and streamlined- even the extraneous ones, like when she ran her hand through her hair- for Melpomene to know what school she favored. He suspected, though, that she was not actually a martial artist at all. Eighteen probably had a chip in her brain that automatically targeted the perfect places for her to strike at her opponent, and all she need do was consciously initiate the process of combat and let it do the rest.

Eighteen moved into a stance and glared at the announcer. “Hey. Do me a favor,” she said. “My husband was just sent to the infirmary by this hulk’s partner in crime, and I don’t really feel like standing here and listen to you drag out introducing the fight. So tone down your theatrics and just call it.”

“Uh,” the announcer said, looking between Eighteen and Melpomene.

“Do as she asks.” Melpomene’s face could not flush in embarrassment. He wanted to tell the announcer, “I’m afraid of public speaking anyway,” but the computer in the base of his head deemed expressing minutiae about himself as extraneous, and truncated his speech accordingly.

The announcer shrugged. “Well, it seems that this fight has turned into a grudge match! Neither Eighteen nor Melpomene feel like elaborating, so I guess,” he spun his microphone in the air like a baton, “let the first match of the semifinals begin!”

Eighteen wasted no time getting into Melpomene’s space and breaking down his guard. Every hit landed, and hurt, and Melpomene was sure that she might kill him and he would never be able to scream out in anguish once. He generated a blast of ki with his palms and pushed her back with it.

Eighteen landed on her feet, and, after flipping her hair from her icy eyes, rushed towards him again.

Melpomene was ready for her calculated brutality this time. Her first onslaught’s precision had proven him correct about the nature of Eighteen’s combat, and so Melpomene took advantage of his brain’s muscle memory and his artificial intelligence’s calculation capabilities to form a defense. He struck back at her offense in such a way as to most effectively dull her oncoming blows- he had to knock her arms and legs off of their intended trajectory enough to minimize the damage he took.

He was still going to feel every hit he took for the next month, at least. His hands were definitely broken, and everything was starting to swell despite his ki shields.

In a past life, Melpomene had been the master of a martial arts school. His passion had been perfecting his art and teaching others, much like Terpsichore. Melpomene had been known for his natural precision, and it grated on his nerves that he could no longer tell whether his success at preserving his life and limbs was more a product of Melpomene the man or Melpomene the machine.

Eighteen gracefully finished her kick to Melpomene’s arm- a move intended to shatter bone, Melpomene knew, but he had slowed it with his ki and free arm just enough to spare him that major of damage- and fired twin beams of energy at his torso.

Melpomene’s artificial intelligence prioritized his own security over the wellbeing of the extraneous audience members behind him, but he thankfully had the willpower and existing autonomy to judge his automatic agenda as incorrect. He fought his computer’s commands to deflect the energy towards the audience and away from himself and instead took the risk of absorbing it the way Thalia liked to do. He was about as successful as he could hope to be when trying such a technique for the first time.

Unfortunately, Melpomene’s struggles with his mechanical handicap did not always have him as the victor. In fact, Melpomene was unable to stop himself from immediately firing the energy he had taken from Eighteen back at her in retaliation and putting the announcer, who stood aligned behind her, at risk.

Luckily, though, Melpomene’s blast hit his target and the masked Son Gohan pulled the collateral announcer out of harm’s way.

Eighteen glared daggers at Melpomene as her clothes smoked in the aftermath. “Stubborn ass.”

Melpomene’s human apology was quelched by robotic practicality.

The computer in his head was hateful, but necessary- it managed his entire brain stem and parts of his higher order faculties. Without it, Melpomene would be a seizing, screaming mass of both internal and external chaos. The problem was that it worked too well, sometimes, and Melpomene often feared he was losing himself to it.

“So does your face not work, or do you enjoy looking like the Frankenstein Monster?” Eighteen asked. It was clear that she was trying to make him lower his guard.

“What about yourself?” Melpomene said. What he had really meant to do was ask her about her life. He had been watching her with great interest since the moment he had understood her to be a cyborg, and was curious. She was the first augmented human besides himself that he had ever seen, and she enchanted him by way of living a seemingly normal life.

Eighteen scoffed. “Wow. Quite the gentleman. I’m sure you have lots of friends.”

The only people Melpomene’s distorted sense of self had not alienated were Thalia and Calliope.

Melpomene tried again. The best he could do was, “Somehow, someone thought to take a woman as unnatural as you as a wife?”

Eighteen’s face turned stony. She dove in as if to strike him from below, but instead clawed some of the dirt from the ground to throw into Melpomene’s eyes. Eighteen must have whirled behind him after that, because Melpomene felt an excruciating pain bloom on the back of his head, and then air rushing past his body as he flew forwards.

He saw spots when he opened his eyes, and then the dirt as his body twitched. She had damaged his computer.

“That’s for me,” he heard Eighteen say from a distance. “This next one will be for my husband, and the one after that for my daughter.”

Melpomene was losing consciousness. Ending this now was imperative.

His body snapped to attention and shot a blast of ki from his hands and mouth before he even understood what he was doing, and then his perceptions morphed into a series of impulses and little else.

\---

Dende gasped in horror as the fighter called Melpomene overtook Eighteen with a gleaming swath of energy and disintegrated half of the Contestant’s pavilion behind her in one stroke. He had been watching over Gohan from within an ivory bowl of water since the boy had left the Lookout that morning, and was privy to everything that had happened.

Gohan had been so worried last night that Dende had felt compelled to observe. Now, Dende wished he had discouraged Gohan from attending the Tenkaichi Budokai at all and kept the boy up on the Lookout with him.

Eighteen fought her way out of Melpomene’s onslaught, but the man sent his wave of destruction after her with a turn of his head. The audience panicked and ran as it edged closer to them.

Gohan appeared next to Melpomene and knocked him out. He fell in a heap on the ground.

Gohan’s family and a few faces Dende recognized, but could not recall the names of, spilled out of the ruined Contestant’s pavilion like the brightly colored candies from the boxes that Gohan would sometimes bring for Piccolo.

“Calm yourself,” Piccolo advised Dende from the other side of the bowl of water. “Gohan should be the one to handle this, not you.”

The Guardian shook his head. “Yes, but are you not concerned that these people will come looking for you because of your presence at the Cell Games?”

Piccolo chuckled darkly at that. “They are fools if they do so. You may not realize this, Dende, but the Demon King Piccolo still frightens most humans. The wise ones, anyway. If they are stupid enough to try and bother me, well.” He crossed his arms and let the rest of the sentence hang in the air with him as he levitated with his legs tucked beneath him.

Dende frowned. “But Piccolo, this Circle chose to pursue Gohan even though they knew that he is the son of Son Goku, and comparable to him in strength, and Son Goku is the one who stopped you in the first place. He is more formidable than you, and yet they-”

“Harrumph,” Piccolo argued with feeling. “Regardless, you concern yourself too much with Gohan’s business.”

“But teacher, are you not also sitting here with me and observing his every move?”

Piccolo snorted. “Do as I say, not as I do.”

Dende traced the head of the carved dragon decorating the sides of his broad viewing bowl as his thoughts ran in circles in his head. Eighteen and the cult member Thalia were shouting at one another. The audience was still pouring out of the stadium in a panic. “Perhaps we should gather the Dragon Balls and wish for the public to forget this whole ordeal. Perhaps,” Dende said, “we should wish for them to forget everything that happened seven years ago, when Cell hosted his tournament.”

“...No,” Piccolo said thoughtfully. “No, that is too frivolous a wish. The Dragon Balls should not be used so casually the way Kami allowed Goku to do. However, the best course of action may be-”

A scream from within the reflection of the bowl pulled both Guardian and Mentor back down to Earth.

Melpomene had righted himself once more and shot more dreadful light around him at random.

“Dammit!” Thalia screamed at Eighteen. “You bitch! You had to hit him right in the back of the head! That would have killed anyone else!” Thalia kicked Melpomene’s legs out from under him and mashed her hands down over his mouth. “Stay down, man, stay down!”

Dende searched desperately for Gohan. He found him kneeling over a huge, charred figure on the ground near the pavilion. Chi Chi stood nearby with Goten pressed to her side.

“That man is-!" Dende gasped, looking to Piccolo for confirmation.

Piccolo affirmed with a grim expression.

“I need to be there!” Dende said. “I am a healer. Please! Teach me, Piccolo, teach me the technique Kami used to possess a man. I… I can take the form of a bystander and-”

Piccolo shook his head. “No. That would do nothing. It is too late. The Ox King is already dead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so concludes the meat and potatoes of the tournament! Hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> I have started a Tumblr blog for this story- it’s called heavydbz and the tag for all of its story stuff is HeavyDBZfic so if you want me to see something, tag it thusly. 
> 
> Right now, the blog is queued for not only the chapters of the story, but character theme songs and relevant gifs/DBZ scenes from canon. Eventually I’ll start posting sketches of both the original characters and the canon cast as you know it (ESPECIALLY WHEN THEY HAVE WARDROBE CHANGES BECAUSE I LOVE CLOTHES!) and other for-funzies goodies. Feel free to bother me and ask me questions/ask the characters as they appear here (including Sevoya and the Circle) in the inbox. I also accept rp’ers. In fact, there is little I don’t accept (but be warned that if you send outright anon hate- and yes, I can tell the difference between people being silly- an rp’er rp’ing Vegeta insulting the story, for example, because he’s mad I had him blow himself up or something is totally game and also would be HILARIOUS- and outright hate- that I may post it and make fun of whatever you say in a variety of creative ways.) So come play! I love to play, and I love to talk to all you people!
> 
> ...oh, and thank you to all of you who voted on the pairing. I waited awhile before posting this chapter to give everyone interested a chance to be heard. After tallying all the votes and opinions from messages, comments, and ff.net, a decision has been reached. It was a close vote. I realize this thing is categorized as a romance, but believe me when I tell you that the romance is conducted between most of the cast (kind of like the Romance of the Three Kingdoms!) rather than two individuals falling in luuuurrrrvvv kissy kissy ooh la la, so don’t expect to see this turn into Twilight by next chapter. The pairing picked is more a litmus test to tell me about you people in the audience and what you like (and WHY because I’ll be real and say that there is a bit of a disconnect when it comes to my criteria for a good pairing and the general fandom’s) as well as a tool for me to use to sway events a certain way (and also determines the next Big Threat and How It Gets To Be Relevant- because honestly I have outlines written for all three of the romantic outcomes available and the inevitable love triangle between the three of them itself is necessary for the plot anyway) and I think some of you will be rather surprised with what it is Gohan must face next once we get there based on who you did or did not choose- it’s a little more in line with the classic DBZ schtick of “holy shit that guy could level this planet and still be ready to do it again!” and includes a fan favorite. You’ll know who it is when they appear. :) Hopefully it will be a good surprise. Actually, I feel very sure all of you will like it if you have liked the story thus far.
> 
> ...What? Oh, you want me to just TELL you who won the pairing vote? I can’t do THAT! That’s no fun! It’s a huge spoiler and a lot of the fun of this story depends on you assuming one thing, getting another, assuming another thing, and then letting me slap you in the face with how it really goes down. But just know that YOU HELPED PICK IT!
> 
> Thank you for reading and to all of you who review or just come talk to me about Dragon Ball!!!


	22. The Red Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gohan tells Terpsichore and Thalia a secret.

The people in the audience milled about like ants in an overturned dirthill as they desperately tried to escape from the oppressive stadium seating. Terpsichore had ordered his nearby kindred to get ahold of themselves despite the chaos and direct people from their seats in an orderly fashion, but he otherwise paid them little mind as he descended into the center of the stadium ring. Normally, Terpsichore would take charge of the audience himself, but the air had inexplicably changed the moment that Melpomene malfunctioned and shot that enormous ox of a man down. The development was at once terrifying and intriguing, and the wind dancer felt compelled to aid his kindred in the dirt ring rather than those in the stands.

He slowed himself and hovered above where Thalia crouched over Melpomene. “What have you two done?” Terpsichore all but screamed over the hullabaloo.

Thalia kept her hands planted on Melpomene’s shuddering body. “We?! We?! It was she,” Thalia accused, thrusting her face in the direction of the blonde competitor, Eighteen.

“Don’t point fingers at anyone but yourselves,” Eighteen shot back. “This was a competition for martial arts until you came along and made it about something else.”

“This was a spectacle glorifying a liar and a fraud!” Thalia argued, risking moving a hand to point at Mark Satan, who was currently standing front and center of the crowd that had gathered around the corpse of the man Melpomene had incinerated. “We came here to spread truth and defame him, not to try and kill people!”

Eighteen flipped her hair. “And I came here to win prize money. I could care less whether the rest of the world idolizes some idiot with an afro, and you should have gotten wise and shared my attitude.” She lit a sphere of Inner Flame in her hands. “And despite your intentions, someone is dead by your hand, not by mine.”

Terpsichore could sense no energy from within Eighteen despite the presented evidence to the contrary in her hands, and that huge presence was still looming all around, vassal unknown. Terpsichore ground his teeth and realized the hairs on the back of his neck were standing up.

“Speaking of killers,” Eighteen said, training her golden orb on Melpomene, “you can’t get a muzzle on your mutt. Well. I think that it might be time that we put him down for good, too.”

Terpsichore hurried to float in front of Thalia and Melpomene protectively even though he knew he was little more than a meat shield. “This is not how this needs to end,” he said, eyeing the crowd of people on the sidelines. “The tournament is over.”

Thalia interrupted from behind him. “Did Erato say?” 

“No. But this madness around us proves it.” Terpsichore shook his head and once again addressed Eighteen. “We could not cause you any more trouble if we even wanted to try. Please leave us be.”

A sneer crossed the lovely Eighteen’s face. “Oh, I should let you go because you don’t wanna play anymore?” Her ball of Flame pointed squarely at Terpsichore’s head now. “Sorry, but no. It isn’t about what you will do. It’s about what you have already done.” The sphere grew brighter and crueler.

Terpsichore threw as potent of an energy shield around himself as he could manage and thrust his good arm over his face.

The moment passed, drenched in dread, but Eighteen’s shot never connected. Instead, the mysterious center of outrageous Inner Flame suddenly moved in close- dangerously close. It made Terpsichore’s stomach drop and his ears ring just to stand near it.

He chanced a glance.

The competitor in black had somehow made his way in front of Eighteen and extinguished her Flame by gripping her hand. The circlet holding his mask in place rattled to and fro as the disguise fought against it, like the mask itself wanted to run away from whatever it was hiding. 

Terpsichore shared the costume’s sentiments, but willed himself to hold his position.

The Monkey King mask tilted sideways as the person shrouded behind it considered Terpsichore. “You,” The Monkey King said. “I remember you. You said you wouldn’t try to find me. We made a deal.” His voice was quiet and raw.

Terpsichore blinked. The force of The Monkey King’s energy was giving him vertigo. “I,” he struggled, “I am not sure I know what you mean. I am not even sure I know who you are.”

The Monkey King did not like that answer. He released Eighteen and took a step closer to Terpsichore while his Inner Flame somehow seethed out from within him even more. “Don’t lie to me again.”

“That’s him,” Thalia clarified. “That’s Son Goku’s son. The kid behind the mask is the person you tried to recruit back at your Circle.”

Terpsichore swallowed. His tongue felt like it was made of cotton. “It cannot be! That boy’s energy was nowhere near this size! This is,” he swallowed. “It’s mammoth,” he understated. “There’s no way he could have hidden all of this.”

Son Gohan slowly moved closer until his mask nearly touched noses with Terpsichore.

Terpsichore was too afraid to move.

Son Gohan gently slipped Terpsichore’s broken arm out of its sling to hold in his hands. “You promised you wouldn’t come looking for me if I could land a hit on you,” he said.

Terpsichore gained hold of himself and tried to shrink back, but the small, sharp pain the action incited in his captive arm stilled him once again.

“I didn’t,” Terpsichore shuddered and licked his lips as he stared into the mask’s painted eyes, “I didn’t intend to be your enemy. I simply wanted to-!” His breath hitched as Son Gohan slowly sank his fingers through the cast and into the bruised, warped flesh of Terpsichore’s elbow.

“We made a deal,” Son Gohan’s voice transformed into a hiss. “And so I let you go.”

Terpsichore nodded. “Yes! Yes, I failed to uphold my end of the bargain! I lied!” He confessed, his eyes widening and watering as Son Gohan’s fingertips began to twist as they crushed his broken arm. “But I won't do so again!”

Son Gohan shook his head. “No. You won’t. I won’t give you the chance.” His fingers sent volts of Inner Flame into Terpsichore’s arm and the wind dancer screamed as his skin blistered and tore open.

Thalia deftly maneuvered around Terpsichore and thrust a fist at Son Gohan’s shoulder, and then a kick to his side. “Let go of him!”

She managed to rip through his clothing, but Son Gohan himself was totally unfazed. He turned to look at Thalia, and then suddenly she was flying through the air and into the emptying bleachers. The remaining audience members screamed and grew more desperate in their bid to leave as she crashed through the cement seating above them.

Son Gohan released Terpsichore and was floating above where Thalia landed in an instant. She arose from the dust and debris in a rage, but then came crashing down into the dirt near Terpsichore before the wind dancer could understand what had happened.

Thalia slowly rose to her feet and tried to guard Terpsichore. Her face had already started to swell from her fight with Krillin, but now it was slick with blood, as was her side. Thalia shuddered and lost more as she spat into the ground.

Son Gohan was in no hurry to return to the ring. His hands were at his sides, clenching and unclenching every few seconds.

“So this is what he’s like when he gets like this,” Eighteen said and backed away. She grinned, but it held no mirth. “Seventeen and I got very lucky.”

Son Gohan touched down on the ground and walked towards Terpsichore and his kindred.

The unconscious Melpomene, who had still been twitching in the background, suddenly shot a ball of Inner Flame from his mouth and at Son Gohan. The boy slammed it down into the ground and inexplicably appeared above Melpomene. He considered the hulking man, and then placed a foot over his throat.

Thalia gasped and stumbled as she tried to defend Melpomene, and Terpsichore did his best to take responsibility.

He gripped Son Gohan’s shoulder with his good arm even though every nerve in his body screamed for him not to. “Please leave him alone. I am the one who started this mess. I am the one you are after, not Melpomene.”

“This man killed my grandpa.”

Terpsichore looked again to the corpse on the ground and the crowd of people afraid to touch it, and then the two afraid to let go of it. “It was an accident. Melpomene would never do such a thing intentionally.”

“You’re all he’s got left to speak for him?” Son Gohan’s mask kept its eyes on Melpomene. “You’ve lied to me once. Why not again, on his behalf?”

Terpsichore panicked as Melpomene’s face grew red from lack of air. “No. I would not. Not for something so important. Please!”

Melpomene started to turn purple.

“We- I- came here over a petty grudge. I came here because I was upset that you could best me so easily, but also because I want your help. The High Northeastern Circle has something, deep in the Earth, and you, you’re far superior at generating ki than I. You have more of it. That avalanche was not something we generated for the sake of creating an avalanche.” Terpsichore shook his head, both to reinforce his statement and in desperation. “And you found our base and had the power to destroy the entire operation in one shot. I could not just let you go.”

Son Gohan’s answer was simple. “I don’t want to help you.”

“Then don’t. It’s obvious that trying to force you is really, truly, absolutely a fool’s errand. If my words do not convince you, then let our comparative strengths. Thalia is the strongest of us, and she proved ineffectual. Just please let Melpomene go!”

Son Gohan was not swayed.

Thalia cried out as she staggered towards them. “If you won’t listen to him, listen to me! I’ll make sure Terpsichore keeps his word this time!” She tripped on an uneven place in the dirt and crumbled to the ground. “I haven’t lied to you yet!” 

Son Gohan considered Thalia for a moment, and then lifted his foot enough for Melpomene to gasp for air. “Yet,” he repeated, and then replaced his foot over Melpomene’s windpipe.

“Son Gohan!” Terpsichore shrieked, and kicked him with his good leg. The boy literally shrugged him off and that alone sent Terpsichore plowing through the grass outside the dirt ring. The pain from Terpsichore’s broken arm and leg meeting the unforgiving ground threw a cloud of stars into the dancer’s vision.

“Vegeta was right to try and kill you. You and your Circle are slowly tearing apart everything I wanted to keep as it was right in front of me,” Son Gohan said. “This is comparable, isn’t it?” He pressed his foot deeper into Melpomene’s throat.

From his place on the ground, Terpsichore reeled and watched as Thalia cast a volley of Inner Flame at Son Gohan.

It was utterly useless.

“Son Gohan, do not do this!” Terpsichore shouted, reaching deep for the will to stay alert.

The boy held his place on Melpomene’s windpipe.

“Stop,” Thalia pleaded, wasting more of her energy on Son Gohan’s unrelenting form with each word. “Stop, stop, stop, STOP, STOP, STOP-!”

“Big brother?” Another, quieter voice cut through Thalia’s tirade, and all eyes moved to find its source.

Terpsichore recognized Son Goten’s hairstyle even through his blurring vision. The little boy was accompanied by an older girl with purple hair who patted him on the shoulder and bid him continue.

“Big brother, you’re scaring me,” Son Goten said. He looked up at the older girl and gripped her legs. “Dende said, um, he said,” the little boy hugged the girl’s legs tighter. “He said you would stop if I asked you to.”

Son Gohan slowly moved away from Melpomene.

“Worry not,” the girl said. “I can undo the damage to his physical body.” She let go of Son Goten and carefully approached his older brother. “Gohan,” she said, and slowly reached for his hands. “Thank you for stopping.” Then, she crouched down and moved her hands over Melpomene’s neck.

They started to glow.

“Sevoya, what are you doing?!” Thalia scrambled forward as best she could from the ground.

The girl did not look up. “I am healing your friend. Additionally, I am not Sevoya. I am only borrowing her body.”

“You,” Thalia was baffled. “I’m sorry?”

The girl finished whatever she was doing to Melpomene and moved to Thalia. “I have repaired your friend’s body, but his brain I cannot heal now that such a device has been implanted into it, and machines are things that I cannot repair.” She held out her glowing hands towards Thalia, who flinched. “Instead, I calmed his mind and put him in a state of hibernation. It should last long enough for you to take him to a place that can help him.”

Thalia gaped as the wound in her side disappeared as if by magic. “How did-?”

The girl smiled and put her hands near Thalia’s face, and suddenly the damage there was no more. When that was finished, the girl stood up and approached Terpsichore. Thalia followed behind her in disbelief.

“Hey, hey, what the hell is happening?! Do you have a split personality that you didn’t tell me about? How are you not Sevoya? How can you just, like, heal me?” Terpsichore’s vision was spotty, but he felt sure that Thalia pointed at Son Gohan and the raging aura filtering into the air around him. “How could you just walk up and hold hands with that?”

Terpsichore felt his focus return to him as the girl gingerly smoothed her hands out over him. He realized that he could move his broken arm.

“I am Dende. That is all you need know,” the girl said to Thalia, and moved on to heal her new patient’s broken leg.

Terpsichore sighed as his limbs stopped screaming in pain. “Thank you.”

Son Gohan approached them, with his little brother not far behind. Thalia tensed and raised her fists.

“Do not aggress him now,” Dende softly warned. “His family is here. If he perceives you as any more of a threat than you have already proven yourselves to be, he may very well kill you this time. I will not be able to help you again.”

Thalia begrudgingly stood down and Terpsichore stayed put on the ground. 

Dende stood up and took Son Gohan’s hands once more. They stood like that for a moment and then she released him in favor of taking his little brother’s and gently leading him away.

“Leave,” Son Gohan said to Terpsichore and Thalia. “And help the people here leave, too.”

“Of course,” Terpsichore acquiesced. 

Son Gohan’s head whipped around to look directly at him. “I wasn’t finished.” The Monkey King mask jittered beneath its circlet with greater intensity for a moment before Son Gohan continued. “I never want to see any of your Circle again, and I never want to hear anything else from you about who really saved the world. If that means that letting Hercule Satan act a false hero and letting the world believe Cell was a magician, so be it.”

Thalia erupted before Terpsichore had the chance to try and save face. “What! Why?! How can you say that?” She stomped her foot. “I thought you, of all people, would understand why we’d want to reveal the truth!”

“Thalia!” Terpsichore scolded her, scrambling to his feet despite the unforgiving pressure from Son Gohan’s energy commanding that he stay down.

Son Gohan’s mask peered down at Thalia with painted eyes.

“You, you live in the middle of nowhere. And nobody knows who you are. Hell, you hardly know anybody- and your name is nearly impossible to find in anything but your school records and in the footnotes of articles about your father. We know. We checked. Son Gohan, you hid under your Great Saiyaman disguise whenever you wanted to use your energy to help people. You feel the fear. Surely, surely it wears on you to hide all of the time.”

Son Gohan took a step closer to her.

Thalia boldly- stupidly, Terpsichore thought- met his challenge and stood up straighter. “Don’t you care that people slander not just your father and his master, but Krillin, and Yamcha, and Tien Shinhan?! Legacies live on even after people die! Don’t you want to make sure people honor them instead of twist them and use them as a basis to hurt others?!”

Son Gohan said nothing.

Thalia took the opening. “When Mark Satan denounced the use of ki, it was only the luckiest of us who were denounced as magicians and liars by the world that was too ignorant to take its head out of its ass and think,” she hissed and shook her head. “Everywhere else- those little places where capsules are heralded as a miracle and not just another gadget, I’m sure you know what kinds of places I am talking about, the ones where demons are real and magic lives on- held a witch hunt.”

Terpsichore knew this story intimately, but did not think it warranted being told at this moment. “Thalia, hold your tongue,” he hissed.

“Or did you not know that? Have you holed yourself up in the wilderness too long to know what the rest of the world- the world beneath the mountain- has been doing for the past seven years?” Thalia’s voice grew strained as she started shouting. “Red Boy, did you stay in your cave and pretend everything was okay because your father was dead, or what?!”

That got a reaction. Son Gohan’s ki flared enough to make Terpsichore feel sick again, and then began to churn inside inside the boy as if it were fighting itself.

Thalia pressed her advantage. “Some people- the ones who had the brains to see that Cell was real, and his destruction of the Royal Army was real, didn’t take the existence of ki users as lightly as that fucker Mark Satan made it out to be taken. They were scared of another threat beyond explanation, and paired that with his stupid assertion he planted in everyone’s heads that “magicians” like us were inherently untrustworthy, made them hasty and rash. And cruel.” She sucked in a breath. “You know, I can’t think of a single ki technique or training regimen that can stop a powerful enough poison from killing someone. Can you?”

Terpsichore put his arms around Thalia even though she fought him. “Stop this,” he said. “It does not matter anymore. We have done enough damage today.”

“And none of it was in the right way, and it does matter!” Thalia shoved Terpsichore aside. “The idea was to make our presence undeniable, but not to put anyone in any immediate danger! Not to destroy the stadium!” She pointed in the direction of the Contestant’s pavilion. “Not to kill a guy!” She began to sob and Terpsichore silently swore to himself that, somehow, some way, he was going to fix this. “I thought you’d understand,” Thalia said to Son Gohan. Her voice was pitifully small. “Who won the Cell Games isn’t really what’s so important to most of us. It’s how they did it, and that they did it, not Mark Satan. It’s that they used ki, and that they did it to help us, not to hurt us. That’s what I want to ultimately tell the world.”

Son Gohan slowly moved his hands up to his head and removed his gold circlet. Then, he lifted the front of his mask away from his face.

The Messenger Boy stared back at them from behind it, seven years older. His hair was golden white as if it was imbued with the light of the sun itself and his eyes were like green sea glass.

Terpsichore protectively pulled Thalia behind himself despite how much he had started to shake and how utterly useless the gesture was. She was too shocked to struggle.

“Please leave,” Son Gohan said. “I’m practically an adult, and I still can’t control my temper. I can’t help you.” He shook his head. “I only know how to either run away, or destroy things, and that, I hate. I’ve no idea how to defend or to fix something like this- not without paying an ultimate price first.”

“We could help you,” Thalia said. “Terpsichore, he… he’s hasty, and petty sometimes, but he’s a master of control. He only lacks the volume of energy you have. He could teach you, though. About control. And I absorb energy. I can teach you to minimize collateral, and how to manage your ki in intermediate bindings so you aren’t always fighting yourself.”

“The power in and of itself is not my problem. My problem is,” Son Gohan’s hair slowly lost its golden glow and his eyes turned black. Terpsichore realized that the boy’s irises and pupils were all the same color even when he was not glowing, and the discovery gave him chills down his spine. “I want to believe you,” Son Gohan said instead. “But I can’t do that. Not after all of this. I’m sorry.” He turned away and walked towards where his little brother and Dende stood waiting. “Please leave us alone.”

“...You’re not really human, are you?” Terpsichore blurted out after him in a hushed tone.

Son Gohan pulled the mask back over his face and replaced the circlet over it. “Go away,” he commanded, and lead both his brother and Dende by the hand towards the crowd and the corpse on the other side of the arena.


	23. The Mondays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The tournament ended in a blur, and our friends in Dragon World have scattered themselves throughout in search of themselves.

Sevoya had urged her father to let her go to school today in the hopes that it might do her good to return to a routine; apparently, she had been under so much stress from the shock of witnessing the death of Gohan’s behemoth of a grandfather that she had forgotten everything that had happened afterwards. Her father was worrying himself sick over the whole affair and Sevoya did not have the mental acuity to be in the same house with him.

School had definitely been a mistake. The whispered gossip of the other students served as a constant reminder of the disaster of the Tenkaichi Budokai and their theories over the validity of their World Champion drove Sevoya crazy. She felt like a snake trapped in the middle of a stampede, like someone might call her out and trample her at any time.

She suddenly felt very fortunate that she had only mentioned the tournament and her attendance to Gohan, and nobody else. Not having any friends had its perks.

“Hey,” the class clown whispered to Sevoya from the row of desks behind her, “so did you screw that new guy yet, or what?”

Sevoya was too lost in her own paranoia for his casual antagonizing routine to properly register. “Huh?” She said. “What? Did you say something?”

“Yeah, you must’ve fucked each other’s brains out ‘cause you are so not all here,” another voice added. This one was deeper, and if Sevoya had been focused on it she was sure she would know who it belonged to.

Sevoya wondered for the umpteenth time why Gohan had even agreed to go with her to the tournament in the first place. “Yeah, I dunno. Maybe it was you, not him, for all I know. Everything’s a blur.”

“...Wait, did you get roofied?” Erasa had invaded the classroom sometime during Sevoya’s mental meandering and got in her face. Sevoya realized the other voice must belong to Sharpener.

“Beats me. I don’t even remember drinking or eating anything for anybody to be able to do anything to me, but, well, obviously I’ve got a case of CRS. Can’t Remember Shit.”

“Like, you can’t remember anything at all?” Erasa’s face fell.

Sevoya tried to change the topic with shock value, but her deadpan expression made her words sound ominous instead of immature. “I mean, I remember yo’ mama, so that’s gotta count for something.”

“Uh, what?”

Sevoya looked down at her dress. It was black. How depressing. Her first choice had been the more cheerful white like the one she had worn to that stupid Tenkaichi Budokai, but Sevoya knew that she did not have it in her to face Gohan Son with his black hair and black clothes while she existed as his warped reflection of opposing color and synchronized sadness for a third time.

Actually, she was not sure she could face Gohan at all, yet. He had lent her his umbrella and gotten her out of the smothering crowd the day after the end of the world was postponed, and all she had managed to do for him was inadvertently set up the dominoes for the death of someone else he cared about.

It was so stupid of her to have such a fixation on someone who, through some surely unrelated coincidence, had been in mourning the same day as she had been and had just so happened to cross her path. 

In the world beyond Sevoya’s skull, Erasa’s panicked expression had morphed into that false pep and congeniality Sevoya was so used to seeing on so many pretty girls’s faces when they wanted something. “...Oookay, but yeah! Anyway! Sev! Hey girl!” Erasa chirped. “I came to find you because you because, like, Sharpie says he has something of yours in, like, his locker!” This was a lie, of course. Probably.

Sevoya’s classmates- the ones who had not left to eat their lunches yet, anyway- drew their own conclusions and let loose with a resounding chorus of catcalls.

Erasa panicked and her casual amicability turned to nerves. “No! No! Not like that! Um,” she twiddled her fingers. “It’s, uh, it’s,” she floundered.

“Quit with the act, Erasa. You look even more suspicious. We want to talk to you.” Sharpener said. “So let’s go, Flyin’ Purple Penis Eater.”

The class laughed and Erasa pouted at Sharpener. Normally, Sevoya would be more inclined to get upset about Sharpener’s particular brand of bullshit, but found that she did not have it in her today. She almost welcomed it, actually.

“Alright, sure,” she said, standing up and grabbing her purse. “I’ll teach Sharpener how to eat dick so you don’t have to.” She strode to the doorway and ignored her jeering classmates.

Sharpener surprised Sevoya by having nothing to say. He and Erasa simply followed her to the door and then took the lead to the roof. There were fewer kids smoking up here today than usual, Sevoya noticed, and her blonde leaders directed her to the most isolated corner of the roof.

“So,” Erasa scuffed her feet against the cement, “um, I heard a rumor that you and Gohan went to the Tenkaichi Budokai?”

Gohan must have told her. Sevoya crossed her arms and considered jumping.

Erasa continued, unaware. “See, we did, too. And, um, we saw what happened to Videl, and we saw that man start blowing things up, a-and then Sharpie thought he saw you down in the ring, and…” She twiddled her thumbs. “...Are Videl and Gohan okay? Videl won’t answer my calls…”

Sevoya blinked. Gohan and Videl must not be here today- which made an outrageous amount of sense and was probably for the best. “I don’t know. I can’t remember anything that happened after Gohan’s grandfather died.”

Total amnesia was not strictly the whole truth, though. Sevoya remembered Gohan screaming- screaming like he was being ripped apart inside, like he was a child on a battlefield staring down a monster and cursing the universe for the injustices of fate, and then a calm, clear voice that was not her own speaking to her from inside her head and apologizing for reasons Sevoya did not know.

She had decided not to share that last piece of information with anyone, though, and had played dumb about any possible reasoning for her blacked-out self’s ensuing behavior when she had come to her senses on the plane ride back to Satan City. At first, she thought it was the right decision because the omission gave her father less to fret over, but she now knew that keeping quiet was probably a stupid move.

Oh, well.

“That dead guy was Gohan’s grandfather?” Sharpener said.

Oops. “Well, he certainly wasn’t his mom,” Sevoya countered.

Sharpener ignored the sass. “What were you guys doing down there, anyway?” His eyes widened. “Don’t tell me Gohan is actually Saiyaman!”

“We all saw how horribly Videl lost and how bad the situation looked like it was getting so we went down there to try and see if we could help her get out.” Sevoya was a fabulous liar when she actually focused and applied herself. She had been lying about many things for years now, and the practice paid off. “We had been trying to leave after we found her and thought it would be more successful if it were a group effort. So we all went down, families included.”

“Did you find Videl?” Erasa asked.

“I told you. I don’t know.”

Sharpener ground his teeth. “So is what those freaky people were saying true about Videl’s dad?” He spat on the ground. “Actually, you know what? Why would you care so much if Videl was not okay, anyway? You’re lying. I know about how you denounced Hercule earlier. You’re probably thrilled about the whole thing and dragged Gohan into helping you find her so you could lead those cultists right to her!”

That last part made absolutely no goddamn sense. The Circle quite obviously knew exactly where Videl was the whole tournament. Sevoya realized that Sharpener might actually be as dumb as he looked and Erasa was the brains of the operation.

“Sharpener!” Erasa said. “Look, we just want to make sure Videl’s okay.”

“Yeah, sure,” Sevoya said. This whole good cop, bad cop routine was getting old. “Mark Satan is a liar. But Videl, I’m certain, had no friggin’ idea. She’s innocent of everything except ignorance, so if you ask me, none of this is any fair to her. Everything she herself ever did really _is_ something she did by herself, with her own strength. So, yes, I think her dad is a liar, but I don’t think she is.” Sevoya kicked at the dirt. “Wherever Videl is, it’s probably a better idea for her to be there than it is for her to be here. Gohan will probably be back at school next week, maybe. I think he’s out to deal with the funeral. Probably. Maybe. I don’t know.”

Erasa clasped her hands together and looked down at them. “Actually, Gohan’s dropped out,” she said.

Sevoya blinked. “Excuse me?”

“My team captain’s girlfriend helps in the school office. She filed the paperwork for it.” Sharpener put his hands on his hips. “We figured you would know that already, but apparently not.”

“Oh,” Sevoya said. “Okay.” She massaged her temple and made her way to the door.

“Wait! Where are you going?” Erasa blocked her path. “Are you going to go see Gohan? Do you know where he lives? Would you ask him--”

“Stop asking me questions!” Sevoya snapped. “I don’t know what I’m going to do! I don’t know where he lives! I don’t know _anything_!” That last part was, perhaps, simultaneously her biggest lie and her biggest problem, if such a thing were possible. “I’m… I’m cutting class for the rest of the day. That’s what I’m doing,” she decided, and shoved past Erasa.

Sharpener put his hands on Sevoya’s shoulders and whirled her around. “We got his address from the school records. Here.” He stuffed a piece of paper into her hands. “Turns out that he actually does live in the mountains.”

Sevoya looked down at the writing on the scrap of notebook paper, but did not say anything.

“We thought about going to visit ourselves and ask about Videl, but we decided it might be better if you did instead,” Erasa added, rubbing her arm. “So, um, will you ask about Videl when you see him?”

Sevoya turned on her heel and walked away without a word.

\---

The arid air from what used to be Fire Mountain made the grasses dry and dull, and the few trees scattered about the land held their branches up to the sky like needy hands eternally begging the clouds above for rain. The only obvious touches of human civilization were the handmade huts and domed capsule houses dotting the dry landscape with a travel-worn maze of dirt paths connecting them. 

The Ox Kingdom, that tiny village sitting in front of the split mountain, was resilient and simple, and the people ambling up the hills to pay respects to their fallen king were much the same. Gohan and his little family absorbed the whole of the scene from the open gathering hall at the forefront of his grandfather’s startlingly grandiose palace. This room also served as the feast hall in times of celebration, Gohan had once been told, but today it was not roast pig served up on a bed of flowers and foliage for the Ox subjects to gather around, but the corpse of Gohan’s grandfather. The villagers’ black mourning clothing did not help the morbid implication; Gohan got the uncanny impression that they were crows gathering around carrion.

His mother smiled at the trickle of people who came to give the royal family their condolences, but kept one hand on Goten’s shoulder even as she quietly chatted and reached out to accept the embraces of the older women who knew her from her life as their Ox Princess. The air of death blanketing the place and the stress of so many strangers prompted Goten cling to his mother’s leg as he tried not to cry.

Gohan reached out for his little brother and took his hand. Goten squeezed it back in reply and mustered his courage to face the crowd of people in front of him instead of hiding in his mother’s skirts. A few of the villagers nodded or bowed to the boys and gave them a sympathetic smile and a few words, but most of them simply stared at the two from afar.

“My, how big an’ handsome you’ve grown up to be,” one of the older women said to Gohan.

“It’s nice to see the face of the family livin’ offa our taxes,” an old man, presumably the woman's husband, added. “And he’d better be big, with how much we’ve paid.”

Gohan could think of nothing else to do except bow. “We thank you for your dedication and loyalty,” he said evenly.

“Oho! Lookee here, the will-be king, bowin’ to me!” The man laughed.

His wife swatted him on the shoulder. “Don’t pay him no nevermind. Say, d’you have a lady friend? Somebody special?”

Gohan did his best to keep his frown from spreading any further across his face. He knew where this was going. “No, ma’am.” His whole being cursed himself for gracing her with an answer.

The old woman winked. “Oh, don’t look so down. A sweet-faced boy like yourself, you’ll have ladies all over you in no time here. So don’t you get scared ‘bout bein’ lonely.”

“...Thank you, ma’am.”

“Yeah, ‘specially since you’re the King. An’ the “strongest guy in the whole world” thing your granddaddy bragged on you for might do you a few favors, too,” the woman’s old husband said.

Gohan’s eyes widened. Nobody was supposed to know about that outside the Son family and family of friends, and now those two cultists from the tournament. “Excuse me?”

The old man showed off his peculiarly spaced teeth. “The Ox King don’t do too good with secrets. And mebbe you’ll marry our granddaughter and share some of that money we pay y’all with us,” he added with a cackle.

The old man’s wife crushed his toe beneath her boot. “You’re lucky he don’t decide to blast us both,” she grumbled. “And look how adorable! We saw your big brother as a little tyke, but we never got to meet you, hon!” She smiled at Goten.

Goten bowed like his mother and brother had shown him. “Th-thank you for coming here today,” the little boy bravely said.

“Aw, he looks jes’ like his daddy, but with manners,” the old man said, his aged callousness melting away some.

His wife swatted him again. “And you could stand to learn to use yours, too, you old coot,” she hissed. “I’m sure your granddaddy and your daddy both are lookin’ over y’all from the other side,” the woman sweetly addressed Gohan and his little brother again. “Y’all are so like Son Goku,” she trailed off, tearing up, and her husband gently lead her away.

Goten sniffled and held Gohan’s hand tighter while Gohan himself closed his eyes and wished for the old woman’s statement to be true in some way- any way at all- but he knew it was not.

Neither older nor younger son acted like their father, Gohan decided. Whoever thought so was deceiving themselves, because it was obvious to Gohan that he had somehow infected his little brother with the fearfulness that had haunted his big brother for his whole life. Son Goku’s soul had not been consumed by such a thing, not ever, and Gohan suspected his father could not even fathom that he might have reason to be afraid of everyone and everything- and that, in return, the world had every reason to fear him. 

Actually, their father did not understand very much in the grand scheme of things, as Gohan was slowly beginning to realize. Son Goku only really knew about the fight, and had barreled ahead blindly armed with nothing but that, a golden cloud, a magic staff, and sheer, dumb luck.

But Gohan knew things- he knew what uncertainty and helplessness tasted like, and he was passing that knowledge onto Goten. That made all of the difference. Gohan wanted to stop but he did not know how.

He kneeled down and looked into his little brother’s face. “It’s gonna be okay,” Gohan said. “I know this is very hard and sad, but it’s gonna be okay.”

Goten looked at the ground. “But Grandpa Ox is gone now,” he said, tearing up. “He’s gone forever.”

That might not be true, Gohan knew, but he held his tongue. It would not be wise to get Goten’s hopes up about the Dragon Balls and then learn that Grandpa Ox did not want to return to the world of the living after the fact. It would not be the first time something like that had happened, after all.

Chi Chi stroked her youngest son’s hair and then let go of his shoulder so Gohan could pull the little boy into a hug. “I promise it will be okay,” he said. “You remember what I told you? You don’t have to be scared.”

The child started to shake. “I want to see Trunks,” he said. “I don’t want to live here! I don’t want to watch them burn Grandpa Ox’s body. I want-! I want-!” Goten’s expression dissolved into tears.

Gohan held his brother tighter. “I know, Goten,” Gohan said, stroking Goten’s hair and picking him up off the ground. “I know.”

Their mother nodded and bit her lip when Gohan whispered that he was going to take his little brother somewhere less crowded.

Gohan gracefully moved past the villagers and strode into the inner halls of the palace as Goten buried his face into the shoulder of his big brother’s long white changshan. White, because it was the traditional color of mourning here, or so their mother had insisted, even though the villagers had chosen to embrace the larger civilization’s tradition of wearing black. It was all the same to Gohan, really. He had worn black in honor of death once before and white was surely no different; they were only colors.

The inside of the palace felt so surreal- Gohan remembered walking in these halls as a child and thinking them huge and ornate. While the building itself definitely was still that, even today, the sparse furniture inside gave the opposite impression. Their grandfather’s house was a beautiful building with nothing in it- that was the best way to describe it.

Gohan stopped, lost, when he made it to the atrium at the main entrance of the palace, and considered the grand staircase to his right and the hallway in front of him. He rubbed Goten’s back and asked himself where the most isolated and private place in the palace might be. The room Gohan had been given was probably the best bet, and so he nodded to himself and made his way up the stairs and towards it while Goten wept.

“Did you know,” Gohan said, “that there is a rabbit in the moon?”

“That’s a story,” the little boy choked out. “And the moon blew up twice, you told me. The rabbit would be dead, anyway.” Goten cried harder.

“No, no, not that. The shape of the craters in the moon- people say it’s a man up in the moon, but it’s not a man. It’s a rabbit. Have you looked at the moon lately?”

“Ye-hes,” Goten sniffled. “When I stayed too late in Chobi’s nest with him and Icarus. I f-fell asleep and then when I woke up, the… the moon was full and I just thought it was so pretty.”

Gohan remembered, too, from about a month ago. He had noticed the full moon and his little brother’s absence, and had rushed out of the house to find him in a panic. Gohan shifted Goten higher on his shoulders and rubbed the base of his back for signs of a tail, just in case. “Did you see the craters?” He asked his little brother.

“Yeah.” Goten shivered.

“Then, the rabbit is still there. It came back with the moon.”

“Oh,” Goten said. “Like you said dad did,” he added. “Can… can Grandpa Ox do that?”

Gohan silently cursed himself- again- for leading the conversation this way. “I don’t know. I wish,” he said, but wishing could only do so much, “but, you know, death is,” he stopped in his tracks as he reached a fork in the hallway. A huge oil painting encased in a golden frame adorned the wall and tried valiantly to make the palace not look so empty, and it drew Gohan in like he were a moth staring at a flame.

He recognized the huge form of his grandfather first, and then the beautiful woman sitting pretty in Grandpa Ox’s hands with a baby- a very young Chi Chi, certainly- giggling in her lap from around a pacifier. The woman was Gohan’s grandmother, he knew, and she had died long before even Son Goku had heard of the kingdom. Their Grandpa Ox had never remarried, and had never sold the painting even when everything else around it had surely been liquidated for his grandsons’ benefit.

It was Grandpa Ox’s most prized possession, besides the dress that both his wife and his daughter had worn the day they were wed.

“...Death is a promise,” Gohan finally said, squeezing his eyes shut and moving to find the seclusion of the king’s quarters, “death is a promise that you will meet the people you have lost again someday, and that they will never leave you again.”

\---

Piccolo planted his feet firmly on the ground and stood over Dende’s hunched form. He was watching over the main cities of the world on the surface from within his bowl of water, but Piccolo did not fail to notice how the Guardian moved his omniscient field of view to Gohan every few minutes.

“I wish to do something for him,” Dende said, his eyes still on the water. “Perhaps it would be a good thing for us to wish Gohan’s grandfather back from the dead.”

Piccolo shook his head. “You are thinking like someone of Earth, not like a Guardian.” Truth be told, Piccolo did not like this situation one bit, but he was wise enough to know that too many of his own emotions were involved for him to justify Dende’s suggestion. “You cannot be partial to Gohan and his family simply because you want to be. What about the thousands of other children who have lost their grandfather across the globe? Are you suggesting that their lives mean less in your eyes than Ox’s?”

“That is not the argument I am trying to make.” Dende shook his head. “Son Goku and his friends have been wished back so many other times. You yourself have been wished back, Piccolo,” the Guardian softly argued. “Why should we not do the same with the Ox King? His life was also ended prematurely.”

The Nameless Namek answered as a whole being. “Because the Ox King is neither a Guardian nor a Defender of the planet. To resurrect him is a pointless and unnecessary endeavor that reaps no benefit beyond gratifying your preoccupation with pampering Gohan. It benefits the Earth in no way.”

“But teacher, you would do the same in my shoes. I know that you would.”

“Not actively. I would allow Gohan to seek out the Dragon Balls himself and do as he likes. That should be the most you or I do for him, if anything at all. Besides,” Piccolo huffed. “Have I not told you that you should strive to do as I say, not as I do?”

Dende sighed. “I would like to be with Gohan during this time,” he said.

Piccolo conceded to himself that his favorite student would indeed benefit from the presence and support of a close friend, but Dende was not currently in a position to be that friend. “With everything that has happened regarding the people’s understanding of ki and acknowledgement of its existence, it is imperative that you keep close watch over them.” Piccolo’s optimistic side- he was certain it had been named Nail, once- hoped that such a revolution in the people’s ideologies would be integrated into their society with little conflict, but experienced and pessimistic Kami was full of doubt. Still, they both reinforced Piccolo’s decision to advise Dende against leaving the Lookout.

Dende picked up his bowl of water and drank from it to drown the disappointment Piccolo knew he felt in his heart. “That would be wise, yes.”

Mister Popo glided into the room and retrieved the empty bowl from Dende. Then, he handed the Guardian a cup full of warm water. “Gohan will come here when ready,” the genie soothed.

“Oh,” Dende said. “Yes. Of course. Thank you very much.”

Piccolo nodded to himself, satisfied that the conversation was over, and left to ponder these things with further meditation.

\---

The Western Circle was much more modern and accessible than Terpsichore’s High Northeastern, what with overhead chandeliers and lit sconces aplenty. Their Leader even had a collection of art and rare plants lining the hallways. 

When Terpsichore had first joined the Circles, he was told a rumor from one of his students that the only hallways that were actually decorated in the Western Circle were the ones that Erato himself passed through daily, and that the rest of the complex was desolate and drab. When Terpsichore had asked their Leader about it, Erato himself had laughed at the idea and promptly given Terpsichore a full tour.

The dancer knew, in no uncertain terms, that Erato was known for his partiality towards luxury, and that experience had also taught Terpsichore that his Leader was also quite open-minded; he had promoted Terpsichore on the spot for being quick to ask questions, even if they were possibly critical.

Still, Terpsichore had been too shaken to explain to his Leader about the true identity of Son Gohan after the disaster their Circle had inadvertently caused at the Tenkaichi Budokai. Erato had gotten testy with his dancer and Thalia both over their unsettled silence, but had given them a grace period to compose themselves and compile a full report to deliver after the fact.

Terpsichore probably would have blurted out Son Gohan’s secret right then and there if it were not for the prying eyes both inside and outside of Papaya Island’s Champion’s lounge when he and Thalia had first been summoned.

Terpsichore had not seen Thalia since, and was surprised when she crossed his path from an adjoining hallway and began to walk in step with him. Since she was so short, this meant that she had to throw her legs out comically far to match Terpsichore’s long strides. The dancer willfully took smaller steps for her benefit.

“Are you gonna tell him?” Thalia asked, her voice a hushed whisper.

“Why should I not?” Terpsichore answered her with a question.

“I don’t think we should,” she said. “I don’t trust the Circle with that information with the way we are now. We haven’t even stopped the Satan City extremist idiots from affiliating with us.”

“Informing Leader Erato is not tantamount to telling the world,” Terpsichore said evenly.

“What if Erato wants it to be?” Thalia said. “I like him, but I know he wants something- and it didn’t seem like it was all that hard for you to make him want to go public. Something else might likewise tempt him to let that fact slip.”

“You wanted to go public, too, Thalia, Terpsichore countered. “We all did. This is an entirely different situation.” He held his head higher. “Leader Erato will listen to me.”

Thalia ground her teeth. “You are such a lap dog. You don’t even realize that Erato cast you out to the High Northeastern to keep you out of his hair.”

Terpsichore rolled his eyes. “He did not cast me out. I volunteered.”

“Because you were manipulated into it,” Thalia maintained her enthused whisper.

“Somehow, I highly doubt that.” Terpsichore scoffed. Unbeknownst to her, Thalia had actually been Erato’s first choice, and Terpsichore had asked to go in her place because he felt Thalia’s leadership style to be too high-risk for such a harsh environment. That, and he would have been separated from Calliope otherwise. “Leader Erato will listen to me if I advise him not to share this information.”

“Your overconfidence is your weakness,” Thalia scolded quietly.

Terpsichore eyed her and countered with hushed sarcasm. “Your faith in your friends is yours.”

“Seriously, Terpsichore, the last thing we need is to screw this up and have Son Gohan on our ass again, or even his short friend with the tall hair. I think that Vegeta guy is actually another one of the Sundrop Children, too, and we just got really lucky.”

A similar thought had occurred to Terpsichore. “Yes. Thus, we need to inform Leader Erato of the situation and discuss how to prepare ourselves once Vegeta recovers.” Terpsichore thought of Vegeta’s young son and hoped whatever attachment the boy had to Calliope was enough to spare the Circle from his father’s latent wrath, but knew better than to count on it. "I feel very sure that he will come for the organization the moment he is able."

Thalia opened her mouth, closed it, and then looked straight ahead for the remainder of their walk to Erato’s office.

When they reached their Leader’s imposing double doors, Thalia’s hand shot out and caught Terpsichore’s before he turned the ornate doorknob. “I should tell him,” Thalia said.

Terpsichore shook his head. “No. I was the one who started this debacle, and I must be the one to handle it.”

Thalia squeezed his hand and pushed her face closer to the dancer’s. “And I’m the martial artist. I understand Son Gohan and his position better. I should tell him, not you.”

“I think my position puts me in a better role to inform Erato,” Terpsichore quietly argued through gritted teeth.

“I should still be the one to tell him.”

“No, it should be me.”

“No, me!”

“I should!”

“ _I_ should!”

The doorknob suddenly turned from the other side and the door fell open. “Tell me what, exactly?” Erato asked as he walked back to his desk.

Thalia shoved Terpsichore forwards. “Well, Terps, it’s all you!”

“What?!” The dancer balked. “What about all of your talk about understanding Son Gohan as a martial artist?” Terpsichore pulled Thalia into the room and in front of him. “This is your moment, not mine!”

Thalia shook her head. “You’re older! You do it!”

“Ladies first, I insist!” Terpsichore bowed and bid her forward.

Thalia grabbed Terpsichore by the ear and dragged him a few steps closer to Erato’s desk. “If you wanna play that game, be a real gentleman and nut up for me!”

“You are a strong, independent woman and do not need my assistance! You should take this moment as your triumph. Please, go ahead,” Terpsichore tore her hand from his ear and twirled her around with it as if they were partners in a dance. Then, he released her to stand in front of their Leader’s desk.

“As amusing as this is,” Erato interrupted, “please close the door and stop your foolishness. I doubt we have time for this game.”

Terpsichore and Thalia looked at one another and then put their hands behind their backs. Terpsichore could feel Thalia searching for the Inner Flame of any potential eavesdroppers as he did the same.

“Sir,” Terpsichore began, “I believe we may have discovered something we should not have.”

\---

Mark peeked down the hallways of his host’s enormous palace. It rivaled his own mansion in terms of size, but not in terms of interior.

Videl had opted to stay in her own room on the other side of the complex since the moment they had arrived here, and while it frayed on Mark’s nerves for his daughter to be out of his sight after everything that had happened, he had initially acquiesced as readily as his hosts. Now, though, it had been three days since he had seen more than a passing glance of her, and he desperately wanted to talk to her.

Mark had barely seen anyone at all, really. The servants delivered meals to their rooms and Mark’s hosts kept to themselves. Not that Mark could blame them- they had a funeral on their hands.

“Videl?” He opened the door closest to him, and found it to be devoid of absolutely everything besides wallpaper and moulding trim. He tried the next one. “Sweetheart?” Mark got the same response as the room before. A third room likewise bore no Videl.

Oh, this was a fine kettle of fish Mark had thrown them both into! The two of them had gone from being the darlings of the world to the most hated people on the planet in the span of a day, and now they were hiding in the house of some people they barely even knew.

Mark continued searching in each and every room he came across. This place was labyrinthine; his only landmark was a large painting of a huge man, a tiny woman, and an even tinier baby on one of the walls where most of the hallways intersected.

Mark eventually found himself in front of an imposing set of double doors carved as to depict some sort of narrative scene. A monkey and a woman were waving a giant feather at a mass of flames, and an ox was charging through the path the feather’s generated breeze carved in the pyre.

Weird. Mark thought it would look much better with his own face carved on each door. Maybe he would commission a set like that if he ever got his fortune back, and then pay for another set with Videl’s cute face carved into it instead and make them his new front doors. No, that would be too selfish. The thing to do was to dedicate such masterpieces to his hosts in thanks for their generosity and kindness of spirit. Surely they would find such works favorable to this bizarre visual fairy tale.

He opened the door and peeked inside. “Videl?” Mark asked, and was surprised to see that, not only was this room furnished, but the boy who had invited Mark and his daughter to stay here stood inside, dressed in all white, and stared back at him from over where a child lay sleeping on the bed. None of this resembled his missing daughter in any way, but it was a drastic change from the other rooms. “Oh! Sorry,” Mark said, and quickly ducked back out.

The boy in white followed Mark outside the room. “Can I help you?”

“Uh,” Mark scrambled for a way to address his host. He had forgotten his name. “Well, see, your majesty? Yeah. See, I was hoping to find my little girl. But, uh, she wasn’t in there so I’ll just keep looking. Don’t mind me.”

The boy’s eyes searched the hallway as if he could find Videl by doing that alone. “I think she’s in the courtyard,” he said. “But she might not want to talk to you or me.”

Mark’s thrilled expression from the first bit of news quickly wiped itself off of his face at the second part. “Why not? And how would you know that, kid? How would you know any of that, huh?” Mark wondered if this boy had put tracking chips into their meals and somehow that was how he knew where Videl was. It was a highly implausible fantasy, but stranger things had happened.

“Um,” the boy said, “I, uh, lucky guess?”

Mark put up his dukes and raised his voice. “You did something weird to me and my little girl, didn’t you?! Have you been spying on me? On my daughter?! I’ll bet you have! C’mere, you creep! I’ll teach you what happens when you try and take advantage of the World Champ’s dau--”

“Shh!” The boy was suddenly had a hand clamped over the lower half of Mark’s face. “You’ll wake up Goten!”

Mark struggled and sent a fist to the side of the boy’s head and then one to his ribs. The boy kept talking, completely unfazed. “I promise I didn’t do anything to you or Videl! I just know where she is! She’s gone to the courtyard every day since we’ve been here. She’s practicing kata, I think.”

Mark eventually stopped struggling when he realized he was turning blue. He grabbed at the boy’s hand and tried to pry it off of his mouth.

The boy realized what was happening and released him. “Sorry!” He said. “I just didn’t want you to wake up my little brother with your noise. I didn’t mean to choke you.”

Mark coughed for air and then looked the boy up and down. “Kid, you’re really strong,” he said. “Like, maybe even as strong as those guys I called magicians at the Cell Games.”

“...Oh. Um. Thank… you?”

Mark broke into a huge grin, his earlier quarrel forgotten. “How would you like to be my number one pupil?” 

The boy smiled gently. “That’s a little tasteless to even joke about, all things considered. Don’t you think?”

He forgot he was Mark Satan the charlatan, now, not the hero. His smile fell from his face and shattered on the ground. “Oh. Oh, uh, yeah, sorry, kid. I’ve been talking big for so long, I don’t know how to stop anymore.” His ego dictated most of his habits. It always had, even before Cell. In fact, Mark’s hubris had been his biggest flaw ever since his wife died.

It was all related somehow, he knew. Cause and effect and psychology and all that.

The boy nodded. “You don’t remember me, do you?”

Mark had the decency to turn pink. “I’m usually not this bad with names,” he said. “You and your family introduced yourselves, but it was all such a blur that it didn’t really stick. Videl pulled out her jet copter and the next thing I knew, we were following you and your weird cloud thing.” He looked at his shoes. “I’m so sorry about your grandfather.”

“I see.” The boy gave a cryptic smile, like he knew something Mark did not- something much more significant than just his name. “I am Son Gohan.”

Mark stuck out his hand. “Hercu- er, Mark. I’m Mark Satan,” he said.

Son Gohan took his outstretched hand. “Oh, I know. Trust me.”

Mark chuckled bashfully. He had quite the reputation.

“Say, Mister Satan,” Gohan asked. “Would you have any interest in learning how to fly?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Twenty points to whoever catches the Star Wars reference.
> 
> Here’s this chapter. It’s all gloomy and full of fallout from the bullcrap that was the last, what, five chapters? Geez. That tournament was soooo long. Well, welcome to the Ox Kingdom in all of its lacking glory. Hopefully you enjoyed my invented backstory for Grandpa Ox (I mean, Toriyama never bothered to really TELL us what an ox-person was, beyond “not quite human”, but that detail never comes up again (I’ll bet you forgot about it, too, since Gohan himself never mentioned it in his speech to Goten in chapter eight- there is a reason for this- and Chi Chi never brings it up in-show/book, really), and then never elaborated on a lot of things surrounding all of that, so I just kinda went nuts and filled in some holes with personal headcanons- oh, and other than gauging certain negligible character traits for my reference when in doubt, Super doesn’t comply here. Fyi. Neither does GT, the movies, Dragon Ball Minus, or the Garlic Junior Saga filler. I’m KEEPING the filler driving episode because I love it. But yeah, it’s all DB and DBZ here, and the rest is mine to play with.
> 
> A quick (lengthy; let’s be real here. I am very loquacious and very opinionated and also the author) note about Gohan because I get related questions about it all lot: based on your comments and questions, many of you, I think, assumed Gohan hated Thalia for delivering such a low blow about his dad and wanted to bash her face in. Well, that’s a no. This Gohan is smart enough to understand what people say and why, but he’s also intuitive enough to get his feelings hurt but *not always lash out* because he is not blind to the ambiguous truth about the dad he idolizes. This makes him look weak, sorta, because he can be hurt, but honestly I think he’s the strongest character in this story, emotionally speaking. It took ALL of the crap I have taken a good twenty two chapters (and in-story SEVEN YEARS) to shovel onto him, and then a death of a loved one to make him break his self-control and make him consider compromising his values by killing people. That’s a big deal to get through, especially considering how young Gohan is (seventeen is still relatively a baby in my eyes, folks) and how absolutely stressful all of these new experiences must be for him these past two weeks (entering public school for the first time as a high schooler with NO FRIENDS OR FRAME OF REFERENCE? Dealing with society? Dang. I know someone who *killed himself* from the fallout of that alone, and a middle school version who had to transfer schools because the other kids were honest to goodness THAT BAD to him. I didn’t dedicate big, obvious monologues to Gohan’s school struggle because I thought Chi Chi and Bulma’s dialogue in chapter three/four about it was explicit enough to get it across, as was Gohan’s penchant for hiding, getting nervous, being a pushover, and getting upset over Videl accusing him of being the gold fighter- and because that’s not the focus of the story. Not directly, anyway) on top of the moments that got a scene dedicated to them. Gohan gets hurt a lot, and he gets lost and confused, and we SEE that in Heavy, but he doesn't break. He is still standing, and everyone around him takes that for granted. I cannot stress the importance of that enough.
> 
> Oh, and Gohan’s general character arc design, mood and thought process (and for several other characters, too) for these last few chapters is the song Sympathy by The Goo Goo Dolls:
> 
> _Stranger than your sympathy,_  
>  and this is my apology;  
> I killed myself from the inside out  
> and all my fears have pushed you out.
> 
> _And I wished for things that I don’t need- all I wanted…_  
>  And what I chased won’t set me free- all I wanted…  
> And I get scared, but I’m not crawling on my knees.
> 
> _Oh, yeah. Everything’s all wrong, yeah. EVERYTHING’s all wrong, yeah._
> 
> _...Where the hell did I think I was?_
> 
> _And stranger than your sympathy,_  
>  I take these things so I don’t feel.  
> I’m killing myself from the inside out,  
> and now my head’s been filled with doubt.
> 
> _It’s hard to lead the life you choose- all I wanted…_  
>  When all your luck’s run out on you- all I wanted…  
> And you can’t see when all your dreams are comin’ true.
> 
> _Oh, yeah. It’s easy to forget, and yeah, you choke on the regrets, yeah…_
> 
> _Who the hell did I think I was?!_
> 
> _Stranger than your sympathy,_  
>  and all these thoughts you stole from me.  
> I’m not sure where I belong,  
> And nowhere’s home and I’m all wrong.
> 
> _And I wasn't all the things I tried to make believe I was._  
>  And I wouldn't be the one to kneel before the dreams I wanted.  
> And all the talk and all the lies were all the empty things disguised as me.
> 
> _Stranger than your sympathy, stranger than your sympathy._


	24. Highest Heaven, Deepest Earth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the Land of Korin, there exists a tower that leads to God...

The eternally smoldering crevice at the center of Fire Mountain’s remains looked like a gaping mouth with jagged, rotted, and broken teeth framing it on all sides. Steam occasionally billowed out of it like the foul breath of the land itself.

Caldera- that was the word Chi Chi’s son had used to describe the kingdom once, long ago. But a caldera was a natural phenomenon, and Fire Mountain was not a natural place. The fire within it was magic- water could not extinguish it, and wind could not beat it back forever. The earth fared little better; it could only contain the flames until the next time they erupted from the ground. 

The flames had ultimately taken Chi Chi’s home from her once, and then her family fortune, and now it was symbolically devouring her father; far below where she stood on the palace’s alabaster and golden balcony lay the vent of the caldera, and inside of it sat the Ox King’s coffin. A single tongue of flame sprouted out of the earth beneath the box, and then another, and another, and another still, and soon Chi Chi’s father was surrounded.

The mourners crowded on the balcony muttered prayers to their deities of choice and rubbed their strings of beads, their lucky rabbit’s feet, and whatever other trinkets they believed helped connect them to a higher plane. 

Chi Chi realized that, next to her, Gohan was fighting to keep from holding his nose as if the reek of dead flesh meeting fire could reach him even at this distance. Then again, maybe it could. He was able to both sense and endure many things his mother could not. Gohan was, after all, the one who cut through the impossible heat below and laid his grandfather to rest inside of it in the first place.

An ordinary man would have died, and then Ch Chi really would have been alone. Suddenly, she was overcome with emotion. 

Gohan had thought it wiser to let Goten rest and forego the cremation ceremony. The smells, the stress from sensing the energies of so many strangers in a new place- it all would have been too much, according to Gohan. She supposed her oldest son would understand Goten’s feelings better than she would, and had accepted his decision without protest. This was already too much for Chi Chi, and her senses were not heightened in any way.

Gohan pulled her close and she began to wail despite her best efforts.

Sometimes, knowing that she would never really be able to understand what the world looked like through her boys’ eyes- and that they would never understand the world through hers- gnawed at her. Her children were the aliens, but Chi Chi sometimes felt like she was the one who was alienated.

“It’s going to be okay,” Gohan encouraged. “We’ll get through this. We always do. I’m right here with you.”

“Getting through something doesn’t mean it’s okay!”

“But it will be, one day,” Gohan offered, and rubbed her back. “And I’m here.”

Gohan was her son, but he filled the place of the husband she had always wanted. That was why she pushed him around so much, she realized. 

Chi Chi tried to make words come out, but she only managed to cry louder.

“I’m sorry, mom,” Gohan whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

Her father’s death had been an accident, and they both knew it. “Hush. Your tears will not put out a fire,” Chi Chi finally choked out. It sounded harsh- and the expression was harsh- but she could not stand to listen to her son drown in guilt. Not now. She had too much else to be upset over. 

There existed a cult that Chi Chi did not understand, and it harbored an interest in her children that she did not understand, either. She understood so little all of the time, and that alone made her belligerent and angry. Her naïveté used to fill her with wonder.

The world used to be magic, like the flames of the mountain. Now, it was cruel. All of it was cruel- the flames, the world, he husband’s destiny, her family’s fate- all of it.

Fire Mountain itself weighed on her mind heavily, too. The Ox King had never taught his daughter how to run his kingdom. Instead, he had instructed her in martial arts, in hunting, in battle. Truthfully, those were the only things Chi Chi’s father could teach her about, anyway- he had been a warlord first and foremost, not a sovereign. She could see it in the way he would brag on his grandson’s strength and in the way he continually built his palace on the precipice of a volcano. Power. It all spoke of a love for power, not of a mind for practicality.

Chi Chi was not much different, admittedly. She had chosen Son Goku as a husband after she had barely known him for a day.

Below her, the shape of the Ox King’s coffin sunk into itself as it crumbled into ash.

Gohan would be king, now. Chi Chi had made sure that he read up on politics, economics, and agriculture - things she only knew about from glancing over his shoulder and from working in her own gardens- alongside his other studies. She could help him manage the palace itself and teach him the customs of the people who lived below, but the inner workings of the kingdom would have to fall to him.

The old king’s mourning subjects slowly cleared out as they finished their prayers, and soon, Gohan and his mother were alone.

The palace did not even have advisors or a treasurer. Before, it had been the Ox King and his fortune, but both were no more. Now, it was only Chi Chi and her son.

“I love you,” she told Gohan. 

He gently pulled her closer to his chest. “I love you, too, mom.”

None of this was fair. It had never been fair. But Chi Chi had also never been one to give up.

“I am very proud of you,” Chi Chi added, looking up and cupping a hand around the side of her baby’s face. 

Her words were met with downcast eyes. “...Thank you,” her son said.

“You know, the house is bigger now,” Chi Chi tried over her tears. She wondered what she could say to cheer up her son. “We have more rooms. Maybe after the coronation, your girlfriend would like to come and--”

“Mom,” Gohan interrupted her softly, “I’m going to teach the Satans how to fly. Goten, too.”

“Oh?” Chi Chi asked. She had almost forgotten about their guests, the devil himself and his dour-faced daughter. Gohan had insisted the two of them be housed in the Ox Kingdom for their safety after the madness of the Tenkaichi Budokai, and while Chi Chi understood the kindness in her son’s choice, she could not understand the inspiration for his altruism even if Videl was his classmate. Hercule Satan had taken everything Gohan had accomplished through sacrifice and then desecrated it, or so Chi Chi thought, and he and his family deserved whatever was coming to them.

“Yes. But before I do that, I want to take Goten somewhere. Tomorrow, if he feels up to it.” Her son sucked in a breath. “Trunks, too, if I can.”

Chi Chi furrowed her eyebrows. “Where?” Her frown deepened and her tearstained face, she was sure, resembled less a grieving daughter and more a divorced mother in that court show Bulma liked to watch on daytime television. “It’s not to see Piccolo, is it?! You aren't going to let that green squatter take the boys into the wilderness to train there for God-knows-how-long, are you?!” Her grip turned to iron around her son’s back. “Because that is the last-”

“Korin!” Gohan’s eyes bugged out like his father’s used to when Chi Chi was sore at him. “I want to take them to meet Korin!”

Chi Chi choked back the rest of her rant. “Huh? The cat?”

“I think It would be good for Goten and Trunks to climb the tower and meet him. It would take their mind off of things. And,” Gohan winced and gauged his mother’s expression, “we might see Piccolo for a little while, too, but we will be coming back! I promise!”

“But,” Chi Chi blinked up at him, “why do that before teaching Goten to fly?”

“Because if Goten can’t cheat, then Trunks is less likely to try and cheat. It’s to make managing them easier on me, really.”

Oh, right. Reaching the top of Korin’s Tower was supposed to be a symbol of great endurance and discipline, not a day trip. Chi Chi forgot that some of the things her family took for granted were actually sacred to the rest of the world. “Have you ever climbed Korin’s Tower?” She had always assumed her oldest had bypassed that initiation rite entirely, but perhaps not. There were many parts of her son’s life she knew almost nothing about.

“Not the right way, no.” Gohan confirmed. “But it’s something to do and somewhere to go that won’t draw a lot of attention to us.”

Chi Chi pursed her lips and let her eyes wander as she considered her son’s request. She also realized that she had smeared mascara and lipstick all over the front of his white mourning clothes. “What about our guests?”

Gohan shook his head. “Videl and Mister Satan don’t stand a chance of making it to the top as they are now. Besides, they need to, um,” he searched for a word that Chi Chi knew would not be the whole truth, “adjust. We shouldn’t bother them too much right now.”

Her son was entirely too soft. If Satan and his daughter planned on staying here, they were going to have to earn their keep. They could adjust on their own time. In her head, Chi Chi came up with chores for them to do.

Her silence made Gohan nervous. “Mom, I’m only asking for a day. I don’t need the whole-”

She held up a hand. Years ago- days ago, even, this conversation would not have been happening this way. Chi Chi would have insisted on her son staying home, and then Gohan, after much deliberation, would have done whatever he had a mind to do if he really thought it was that important. “Be quiet and go do what you want before I tell you not to.” 

Chi Chi did not have it in her to fight her son today, not really, and it was obvious that her son did not have it in him to fight his mother right now, either. She was simply saving them both all the trouble of going through the motions.

“I’m going to be back, mom. I-”

Chi Chi held up a hand. “That’s what you say, but not necessarily what you’ll do.” Truth be told, Gohan going anywhere at all was the last thing Chi Chi wanted. She turned around and looked for the remains of her father’s coffin. Instead, she only saw the flames dancing on his grave.

“Mom,” Gohan pried.

Chi Chi smashed her palm over her son’s mouth. “Be quiet. I can’t deal with that right now. And go change into something that doesn't look like I just used it as a tissue.”

Gohan moved her hand away. “Really, I’m not going to leave you here by yourself for any longer than I think is necessary. And, if you want, I can-”

“Start looking for a wife,” Chi Chi interrupted him. “If that Sevoya girl won’t have you, I can find a village girl for your. Or Satan’s daughter, if-”

“Wow! Mom, I should really go check on Goten!” Gohan exclaimed, turning on his heel and practically running back into the palace.

Chi Chi watched him go. 

Only when she was sure that he was not in earshot anymore did she finally let herself fall apart.

\---

Terpsichore stood in the center of the meditations room and used his eyes to trace the mandala design at his feet. He had informed the entire High Northeastern Circle to hold off on their group focus sessions for the time being and that this room was temporarily off-limits. 

Erato would be here soon. Terpsichore had privately requested his Leader’s presence at this Circle after their meeting yesterday, but he now wondered to himself if he should have requested Thalia’s presence here as well.

The door opened behind him and Terpsichore put away his doubt and smiled as Calliope entered the room. “Are you feeling better?”

The girl nodded and signed to him once she closed the door behind her. “May I hear your thoughts before you speak with Leader about the man trapped in the Earth?”

Terpsichore acquiesced. He hid little from Calliope. “I made a mistake in pursuing Son Gohan.” He let his Inner Flame search the complex for any listening ears, and found none. “He seems to be, that is, Son Gohan is a Sun Child. Erato already knows that, though.” Terpsichore let that news sink in and then continued, quieter. “Vegeta might be, as well.”

Calliope grew visibly angered. “That man is cruel,” she said. “That possibility is cruel, too.” She bunched her hands together and covered her mouth before she walked over and wrapped her arms around Terpsichore’s waist.

He stroked her hair the same way he had done since the day she had been given to him as a baby. “Erato and I will prepare the Circle should he return. It will be alright.”

Calliope pulled away and slowly asked her next question. “I had dreams of dragons and monsters while I was in the hospital. The nurses in South City told me I slept fitfully.” Calliope was very gifted in sensing the Inner Flame, and it affected everything she perceived. She fiddled with Terpsichore’s clothes before continuing. “How strong are they? The Sun Children.”

“Son Gohan was,” a demon, Terpsichore thought, “impossibly strong.”

“You think the trapped man is the same?”

“Perhaps.” Terpsichore licked his lips. “I think it would be foolishly arrogant of us to proceed under the assumption that he is anything less without confirmation of his limits.”

Calliope nodded and ran her hands along her braid.

“You know, Vegeta’s son apologized to me on behalf of his father, not only for knocking you out, but for my broken limbs.”

Calliope started. “Your arm and leg! I forgot! They are no longer broken,” she marveled. “I thought it had only been a few days since I last saw you, but…”

Terpsichore laughed. “I met a healer. She used magic, I believe. Real magic, not Inner Flame.” He thought about the serene expression of the girl with the purple hair and how everything about her strange power felt unnatural, like it belonged to someone else. “I was very lucky.”

“Are you lying?”

“Would I lie to you?” Terpsichore teased.

Calliope deadpanned. “Yes. I remember when you told me my hair would be like yours if I didn’t eat all of my greens. And that one time when you said that Lilliputians lived under my bed and would drag me underneath with them if they saw me out of bed after bedtime. And I remember that time when-”

“I am telling the truth this time,” Terpsichore promised.

Calliope narrowed her eyes at him, but after giving his arm and leg another look, she dropped the topic. “Vegeta’s son may have apologized, but that doesn’t mean he means it. He is probably just like his father.”

“What do you think of the two boys from the tournament? Son Goten, and his friend. Trunks was his name, I think.” The dancer observed his student’s face carefully.

Calliope cocked her head. “Trunks and Goten are both very nice,” she said. “I like them, too.” She nodded. “I think they would like the Circle. I want them to join.

Terpsichore nodded. She had very few playmates. “I see.”

“Why?”

“Because Trunks is-” Terpsichore felt Erato’s Inner Flame approach and heard the door. “Ah,” he said. “Hello, Leader.”

\---

Trunks had been climbing for hours, and he was tired. He was thirsty. And he was hot. 

And he really needed to pee.

“Well,” Gohan said to the last complaint as he pulled himself level to Trunks, “untie your pants and go. Then, I’ll pass you the canteen.” He slapped a bag strapped to his side. Gohan also had snacks and sunscreen inside of it that he distributed to both children liberally.

“Do we really have to climb this in one go?” Trunks whined as Gohan passed him. “Can’t I at least fly back down and pee and then fly right back to where I left off?”

“Yeah, Gohan,” Goten added. “Can’t we at least do that?”

Goten’s big brother gave a knowing smile. “Is this too hard for you?”

Trunks knew he was being baited, but it was working. “No,” he said.

“What about you, Goten? Do you still want to give up?”

“I wanna go to Trunks’ house,” Goten said. “Maybe Miss Panchy could make us some lemonade and Trunks’s dad will be awake!”

Vegeta had been comatose since the day of the tournament and Trunks was tired of the forced cheerfulness everyone gave him whenever the topic was broached. Goten, for his credit, was oblivious to the situation, but his comment still got under Trunks’ skin. “I’ll make you some lemonade,” he muttered under his breath as he considered urinating onto his best friend’s head.

“Huh? Did you say something?” Goten asked, looking up at him with dark, clueless eyes.

Trunks looked away. “No. Nothing. I just don’t wanna go home.”

Trunks had overheard his mother and Yamcha whispering in the halls the day that Vegeta had been transferred from South City Hospital to the Briefs’ Complex- he could not catch all of their words, but he had gathered together enough of them to get the picture- vengeful, vindictive, humiliated, dangerous, murderer…

His mother had been all too eager to send her son off on this day trip, and Trunks had been all too eager to go.

He looked down in search of the ground, but he only saw clouds. The Earth itself was shrouded from this height. He wedged his feet into the footholds of Korin’s Tower and untied his belt. Goten clambered up next to him and followed suit as if on cue.

The two of them helped one another face outwards so they could spare the column.

“Hey, Trunks?” Goten asked as they relieved themselves, “What’s wrong?” His voice weakened a little bit. “Your dad’s gonna be okay, right? He’s not gonna die too, is he?”

“Why you gotta ask me that now? I am trying to pee,” Trunks glowered. He remembered too late that Goten had just lost his grandfather and regretted his attitude immediately.

The little boy’s dark brows pressed together in concern. “Is he?”

“No, Goten,” his big brother assured from above them both. “Vegeta will be fine.”

Gohan was right- the question was not whether or not Vegeta would wake up. The question, in Trunks’ mind, was if anyone actually wanted him to.

Trunks readjusted his pants, flipped back around to face the tower, and started back up it. “Gohan,” he asked, “what do you think about my father?”

Gohan handed Trunks the canteen and then shrugged. “Well, he’s… he’s Vegeta. He’s very strong and very driven. And stubborn. He’ll get back up from this even stronger and more driven than before.” Gohan gestured for Trunks to hand the canteen to Goten, who had finished redressing himself. “I’ve seen him come back from worse, so neither of you need to worry about him.”

“Well, yeah, but,” Trunks had not expected for Gohan to sound so absolutely confident about it all, “I didn’t mean that.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Um, what I meant was,” Trunks wrapped his sweaty palms around the tower’s ridged handholds, “I heard Yamcha saying to mom that he was, um, he was going to be mad when he wakes up.” Trunks pulled himself a little higher on the Tower. “Mad at the Circle people from the Tenkaichi Budokai, and at Calliope. You don’t think,” Trunks inhaled. “You don’t think he’ll try and hurt them, do you?”

Gohan wore a wide-eyed expression Trunks had never seen on the older boy’s face before. It was gone in an instant, though, and replaced by that enigmatic stare Goten sometimes complained to Trunks about. “Your dad is a very proud man,” Gohan said as he took the canteen back from his little brother. “Sometimes, he lets his pride get the better of him. But I wouldn’t worry. Even if Vegeta got carried away, I’d stop him before he did anything like that.” Gohan smiled and started up Korin’s Tower again.

Goten pulled himself to perch shoulder to shoulder with Trunks and the two boys climbed after Gohan at an even clip.

“A man with green hair said that my dad was the one who broke his arm and leg,” Trunks said. “He came to talk to us and then left after I said I was sorry about what my dad did.”

Gohan did not look down. “Green hair, huh?”

“Yeah,” Trunks said. “Like the sea.” He swallowed. “Was my dad,” he started, “is my dad a murderer?” 

Beside him, Goten slowed down. Gohan was very quiet.

“Is my dad a murderer?” Trunks repeated.

The wind’s empty voice filled the silence.

“Is he?”

“Trunks,” Gohan answered, “have you ever asked anyone else this question?”

“No,” Trunks said.

Gohan nodded. “Okay. Ask your mom. She can answer it in a better way than Yamcha and I can.”

“But I want you to tell me,” Trunks insisted. “‘Cause nobody else gives me a real answer about anything anyway, not really, and asking this wouldn't be any different.” 

“They’ll tell you when you’re older,” Gohan said.

“But why not tell me now?” Trunks sped up. “Why doesn’t anybody tell me anything when I ask why dad doesn’t like to go into the city, or why he always leaves at night, or what he’s looking for when he goes! Mom says a lot of words, but they don’t explain anything!” He had Gohan trapped on a column in the sky and was not going to let him escape. “Nobody tells me what else he did when he travelled in space besides fight, or who he was fighting, or even who he was fighting for. And I can’t… I can’t ask him!”

“Why can’t you ask Uncle Vegeta?” Goten quietly interjected from below.

Because Trunks was scared it might somehow make his father angry. “I can’t explain why, but I just… I just can’t!” He snapped. 

“I see,” Gohan said, eyes still skyward.

“I don’t know him,” Trunks admitted. “I don’t understand him. But I want to.”

Gohan frowned deeper.

“But you, you knew him from before, Gohan,” Trunks said, hurrying up the tower to bring himself to Gohan’s level and look him in the eye. “So please tell me about my father. I want to know.”

“It’s not really my place.”

“Please tell me!”

“This really is a story for when you’re older. It’s not-”

“Please!”

Gohan stopped climbing and held the silence as long as he could. “Trunks,” he said, finally looking over to the boy, “no matter what anybody says or doesn’t say, your dad loves you. In fact, no matter what he says, he loves you. I’ve seen how much with my own eyes. I need you to understand that. Can you remember that, more than anything else?”

Trunks nodded.

Gohan studied his face for a minute and then started up Korin’s Tower again. “Good, because that’s all I’ve got to say about it.”

Trunks let his nostrils flare out as he scrambled above Gohan and shoved his face in front of his. “That’s not good enough! Stop blowing me off and tell me!”

“No, Trunks.” Gohan said, climbing around the boy.

“Why?!” Trunks demanded, blocking his way again. “Why won’t you tell me?! Why won’t anybody tell me??”

Gohan shook his head. “I know this is very important to you, but can’t we focus on this right now instead? We can have a picnic lunch once we get to the top, and with how fast you two are, it won’t be too much longer until then.” He smiled. “Let’s have a good day today, okay?”

“Don’t treat me like a little kid!” Trunks felt his eyes begin to burn and his voice deflated. “Why, Gohan?” He erupted into a shout again. “Why?”

“You’re Vegeta’s son, definitely, in every way but appearance,” Gohan admitted.

“That doesn’t make any sense!” Trunks cried. “You told Goten about Kakarot, so why won’t you tell me about my father?!”

“I told you. It’s not my place,” Gohan repeated simply.

“Yes, it is!” Trunks argued.

Goten touched his best friend’s arm. “Trunks, maybe we should listen to Gohan,” he said. “Lots of stuff doesn’t make sense to me when I ask about it, and that’s why people don’t tell me--”

“But that’s because you’re an idiot, Goten!” Trunks forced Goten off of the tower when he jerked away from the younger boy’s touch.

He remembered too late that Goten still could not fly.

“Trunks!” Gohan hissed, sliding down the tower and catching his little brother.

“I-I’m sorry!” Trunks blurted. He was always letting his anger get the better of him. “Goten, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to!” He could feel something wet dripping down his cheeks. 

Gohan pulled his brother close to himself and looked as angry as Trunks had ever seen him. “I was wrong to bring you here. We’re going home.” He called for the Nimbus.

“N-no!” Trunks begged. He thought of how his father’s entire body was a giant, bloody bruise from the neck down and how much he hated having to watch him struggle to breathe. “I’m sorry! Goten, I’m so, so sorry! A-and Gohan, I’m sorry to you, too, for everything! Everything! I-I won’t ask again!” His heart jumped around inside of him as he started to hiccup, like it was trying to rip itself out of his chest. “I won’t ask ever again! Never!” Trunks hated the wary look on his mother’s face whenever she looked over Vegeta and thought she was alone, and the eternally mistrustful one Yamcha wore when he thought Trunks was not there. “I’ll do whatever you tell me to!” His voice cracked. “But please don’t make me go home!”

The golden Nimbus cloud had pulled itself to a stop in the sky next to its master, but Gohan had not made a move towards it. Instead, he was still hanging on the side of Korin’s Tower, his brother cradled to his chest, and sizing up Trunks. “Goten, what do you think?” Gohan said. “Do you want to go home, or do you want to keep climbing?”

Goten looked more bewildered and upset than scared. “I don’t like Fire Mountain. It’s not home, and it makes me sad.” He blinked up at Trunks. “But this makes me sad, too. I just want Trunks to stop crying.”

Gohan kept his gaze on Trunks. “Goten, do you think you can climb ahead of us by yourself? The Nimbus will follow you up in case you fall.”

Goten gripped his brother tighter. “What about you? Are you gonna leave?”

Gohan shook his head. “No, no. Trunks and I will be right behind you, too. We’re just going to talk for a little while, if that’s okay.”

“I wanna stay by you and Trunks,” Goten insisted. “Whatever you’re gonna tell him, I wanna hear, too.” He blinked. “Even if I don’t get it.”

“Goten, maybe-”

“I want Goten here,” Trunks hiccuped.

Gohan sighed and motioned for Goten to start climbing again. The little boy obliged. “You two are impossible.” Gohan followed his little brother.

Trunks started back up, too, once he had wiped most of the snot and old tears off of his face.

New ones took their place, and Trunks decided to let them be.

“Trunks? Do you remember what I said, about how Vegeta loves you?” Gohan looked down at Trunks while Goten waited for his best friend to catch up and climb next to him.

“Uh-huh,” Trunks nodded, passing Gohan and matching his pace with Goten’s again.

“Well, I also want you to know that Vegeta has saved my life. Multiple times. Okay?” 

Trunks nodded again. “Okay.”

“He did?” Goten asked. “I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah.” Gohan surprised Trunks by pursuing the topic even further. “The reason nobody tells you what Vegeta did in space besides fight is because, as far as I know, he didn’t do anything else.”

“But,” Goten looked over to Trunks for a cue, and his best friend nodded for him to keep questioning, “who was he fighting? Other aliens? Were they bad?”

“Vegeta was a… a conqueror, of sorts. A pirate.”

Trunks frowned. “He always said he was a warrior.”

Gohan sucked in a breath, “that’s true, too. Vegeta, he… he would wipe out all the life on a planet so that his boss could either take all of its resources or sell the planet itself for money.”

“Father… killed lots of people?”

“Vegeta destroyed worlds,” Gohan confirmed.

Goten became Trunks’s voice again. “But he doesn’t do that anymore. Right?”

“Vegeta has lived peacefully on Earth for a little over nine years. He…he has,” Gohan sighed. “Vegeta has no one else left to challenge him.”

“Oh,” Goten said.

The three of them climbed in silence while the breeze picked at their hair and their clothes.

Trunks slowed his ascent and Goten followed his lead in curiosity. “So my father, he,” Trunks swallowed, “did he come to Earth because he was ordered to, um…” he trailed off.

“...Vegeta first came to Earth of his own free will. He was… he was looking for something, and his search brought him here.”

Trunks got the distinct feeling that his father had been searching for something all of his life. 

Goten blinked down at his brother. “What was he looking for?”

“The Dragon Balls,” Gohan said. “He wanted to wish for immortality.”

“Oh,” Goten said. “Did he get it?”

“No,” Gohan told him. “And I think he realized that it isn’t what he wants anymore.”

“What?” Goten whirled around and looked from his big brother to Trunks and then back to Gohan. “But why not? Why? Why wouldn’t he want to wish for that anymore?! What if some accident happens to him like it did to Grandpa Ox and he-!” The little boy’s eyes started to water.

“We aren’t meant to live forever, Goten,” Gohan said softly.

“But if we can, why not?” 

“Because,” Gohan struggled to reach his little brother, “because if death were cheap and life were permanent, they both would lose all of their meaning.”

“But why?” Goten argued, stopping in his climb and looking down at his brother. “Whaddabout me? Whaddabout mom? We’re still here! Why can’t he be here, too? Why do we have to be left alone?!”

Trunks watched his best friend’s face break into quiet tears.

“Why, Gohan?” Goten whispered. “Why do people have to die?”

“I don’t know an answer that will satisfy you,” Gohan admitted. “But maybe because, if nothing ever died, nothing could ever grow to take its place. Nothing would ever change.”

“But I don’t want anything to take his place! I don’t want it to change! I want my Grandpa Ox!” He choked down a sob and then faced the stone pillar again.

“Goten!” Trunks followed as his best friend suddenly resumed his climb with renewed vigor.

Gohan kept the pace behind them. “There are some things that we can’t control, and that we shouldn’t try to control.”

“I don’t like it!” Goten shouted. “I just don’t like it!”

“I’m sorry, Goten.” He paused to let that sink in. “But look up for me, please. Look up above you, both of you.”

Trunks did what he was asked, and was surprised to see that he could make out a huge shape looming over them from through the haze of cirrus still floating in the sky around them. Goten, however, kept his eyes on Korin’s Tower.

“That’s the top. We’ve almost made it,” Gohan said. “There’s a little landing right beneath it where some friends of mine live. Do you think in a few minutes, you would want to meet them?”

“I’ve met Mister Popo and Dende and Pikokoro,” Goten sniffled out.

“Oh, I know. But these are different ones,” Gohan said. “Would you want to say hello to them or is that too much for today?”

Goten managed to make himself ascend the tower even faster. “I don’t want to go to Fire Mountain,” he reiterated. “And I don’t want Trunks to go away yet, either!”

Trunks hesitated and looked between the two brothers, unsure of what to do.

“At the top of the tower lives the god of martial arts,” Gohan told Trunks as he pulled himself level with the boy. “Above him lives the Guardian of the Earth, our Kami. And with him, my teacher.” Gohan paused. “They are my closest friends.”

“God? You are friends with God?” Trunks asked.

Gohan did not answer that. Instead, he said, “Trunks, don’t ever hate your father, even if he disappoints you. He’s trying.” Then, he made to gain on Goten.

Trunks looked down at the clouds covering the Earth once again before he let his hands and feet follow the tower upwards once again, ledge after ledge, and wondered to himself when it was that his whole world became so wrapped up in unknowns that he could not even recognize it anymore.

\---

Calliope followed after Erato and her teacher down the dank passageways and wide, spiraling steps to the lowest and most remote chamber of the Circle. There was no light here, so she had generated her own using her Inner Flame, much like her companions had done.

Erato’s strange, purple light made Terpschore’s red one not appear quite as harsh to Calliope’s eyes. Instead, it made her feel sleepy when she looked at it for too long.

“As I told you yesterday, Son Gohan’s black hair and eyes changed color as his Inner Flame extinguished itself,” Terpsichore said. “I do not believe that I put enough emphasis on the fact that he did not seem to have any irises, or that his face,” Terpsichore used his hands to search for what he wanted to say, “changed shape. And his muscles rearranged themselves. It is difficult to explain.”

Erato cut to the point. “Yes. But how, exactly, are those details important?”

Calliope’s teacher shook his head. “I do not believe Son Gohan is human,” he admitted.

Erato laughed. “I never took you as someone who would take the spiritual approach to our doctrine, Terpsichore.”

“No, no,” Terpsichore said. “I do not mean to say that he is to be worshipped, per se. What I am trying to express to you is that he might not be of this planet.”

Calliope sent her incredulity outwards with her Inner Flame.

“Gods are preposterous, but aliens are feasible,” Erato teased. “That must be it.” He snickered. “My apologies, but I believe I agree with Calliope on this.”

Terpsichore surprised his student by not acting the least bit offended, both on the surface and with his underlying Inner Flame. “I hope you are both proved correct, but until then, I must ask you to take caution and reconsider our mission here in this particular Circle.”

Calliope felt the tension in the air and realized that the hair on her neck was standing on end. They had arrived at the final chamber.

She watched as Terpsichore braced himself, and then opened the door.

\---

Goten stared at the big, white cat peeking down at him from the top of the stairs of the landing on Korin’s Tower. 

The cat stared back.

The little boy had sped away from his brother and Trunks in a fit of emotion and had intended to keep the distance so he could cry to himself until he calmed down, but something about this cat’s expression and size made him forget all about everything he was feeling.

Right now, Goten just wanted to play with it.

He pulled himself from the tower and onto the stairs, and then slowly made his way to the cat with an outstretched hand.

The cat watched him through squinted eyes, and then moved two steps away whenever Goten got close.

Goten patiently persisted. He even closed and opened his eyes slowly- twice- the same way that Gohan had taught him to do with the sabertooth tiger cubs on Mount Paozu.

The cat opened its eyes and furrowed its whiskers in what Goten could have sworn was an expression of disbelief.

Goten sat down and patted his lap.

The cat closed its eyes again, shook its head, and scratched at its ear.

Goten decided to change tactics. He took off his belt and wiggled it on the ground in front of him to try and entice the cat to come play.

The cat watched, unimpressed, with a frustratingly enigmatic countenance.

Goten started to pout.

The cat yawned and turned around with a swish of its tail.

This obviously was not working. Goten stood up and put his belt back around his waist. 

The cat plodded over- on its hind legs, no less- to where a staff rested against a barrel. It leapt to the lip of the barrel, picked up the staff, and held its perch.

“Mister kitty, why don’t you wanna play? Don’t you get lonely all the way up here?” Goten asked.

The cat flicked its tail and looked over at a doorway on the far left. A fat man came out of it with a sword on his back and a quickly-emptying bag of potato chips in his hands.

Goten realized that this must be the friend that his big brother had mentioned. He gave a shy bow. “I’m sorry I walked into your house without being invited!” He blurted. “I just saw your big cat and wanted to see if he wanted to play!” He kept his red face parallel to the ground. Gohan might get upset if he learned that Goten had forgotten his manners.

“Uh,” the man said. “Did I go back in time or am I just crazy?”

Goten looked up at him. “Huh?”

“Aw, whatever, Korin. I’m not falling for another one of your weird mind-game pranks.” The man turned around and disappeared back into the doorway.

“But I’m not Korin,” Goten said. “I’m Son Goten!”

“Sure, little Goku-mirage,” the man said.

“No! Goten! Like “wisdom” and “sky”!”

“Yeah, and I’m the god of martial arts,” the man called back. “Like “bull” and “crap”,” he muttered.

“Really!” Goten brightened. “That means you knew my dad! You’re Korin!” He scurried after the man. “Gohan didn’t tell me we were climbing up the tower to actually see you!”

The man shooed Goten out and away from the doorway. “You and I both know I’m not Korin! And I don’t wanna play this game right now. I’m trying to take a nap.”

“Well, if you’re not Korin, who is?”

The man pointed to the white cat. “He’s Korin!” He pointed to himself. “I’m Yajirobe!” Then, he pointed to Goten. “And you’re a prank or a puppet or an illusion or something, and I want you to go away! You’re freakin’ me out!”

Goten considered the cat, and then Yajirobe. “Maybe you are crazy,” he said. “But anyway, how can I make your cat play with me?”

“I don’t know! Why don’t you ask him instead of bothering me?” Yajirobe fumed. “Ugh! Never mind! Just… go away and stop messing with my head!” He stormed off.

Goten frowned and turned back to the white cat, who was washing its face. “Why don’t you wanna play?” The little boy asked.

The cat put its paw back down by its side. “Well, kid,” it said, “cats only like to play by their own rules, not somebody else’s. And, more importantly, it was my house you so rudely walked into without introducing yourself, not Yajirobe’s, and I was a little miffed you didn't introduce yourself.”

Goten fell on his rump. “Woah! You talk! You talked!” He leaned against the barrel and ogled Korin. “You're a cat-man, not a cat! You’re an Animal Person!”

Korin flicked his tail. “No, I’m just a cat who can do many things. But call me Korin.” He hopped down from the barrel. “What’re you here for, kid?”

Goten excitedly pointed over the railing of the landing and to the open sky. “My big brother brought me and Trunks here, an’, an’, an’-” he could not find his words quick enough.

Gohan and Trunks both appeared at the top of the stairs and explained themselves. “We came to ask for your guidance and to say hello,” Gohan said with a shallow bow. “It’s nice to see you, Korin.”

Trunks followed suit and bowed, too.

“It’s so refreshing to be shown manners,” Korin said, and looked over at Trunks. “So that one’s your little brother. Is this one Vegeta’s son?”

“My name is Trunks Briefs, uh, sir,” Trunks said.

Korin circled around him. “Hm. Hm! Hmmmmm…” he lashed his tail back and forth. “I see. What can I do for you?”

Gohan gestured for Goten to come over to his side, and the little boy obliged. “Well, the three of us have climbed your tower to ask for you to judge us, Korin.”

Korin flicked his ears. “You want me to train you?”

Goten and Trunks peered up at Gohan, surprise in their eyes.

“Not exactly,” Gohan said. “I only want your opinion.”

Korin nodded. “My opinion?” He scratched at his chin. “Tuna is better than salmon, definitely. Especially on a Wednesday. There’s just something so great about fish on Wednesdays. That’s what I think.”

“Well,” Trunks muttered, “I can’t think of what else a cat would have an opinion about, so I think you walked right into that one.”

“Korin,” Gohan sighed. “Please.”

Korin grinned. “Okay, okay.” He called over his shoulder. “Yajirobe! I need you!”

The fat man dragged his feet out the door. “Wha-at?” Yajirobe asked, grease and crumbs all over his striped tunic. He spotted Gohan and Trunks. “Oh jeez, there are more!”

Korin gestured for the two younger boys. “Yajirobe, this is Trunks and Goten. Would you do me a favor and go teach them about the Senzu beans?”

“Me?!” Yajirobe complained.

“Teach?” Goten questioned.

“Beans?” Trunks echoed.

“Yes, yes. Go. Go learn something. Be better than your fathers and use your heads for once.” Korin flicked his paws as if he could make them all move by gesture alone. Goten realized that it was working. “I gotta talk to Gohan about something.”

Yajirobe pouted and took the boys into the little room behind him. It held a bed, some barrels, a jar, and a houseplant. He pointed to the plant. “That’s the thing that grows the Senzu beans.” He flopped down on the bed. “Now you know.”

Trunks frowned. “What’s a Senzu bean?”

Yajirobe rolled back over. “It’s those things in that jar over there. One of ‘em will keep you full for ten days. At least, Korin says it’s ten days. I think it’s more like seven.”

“Yeah, and they make wounds better in an instant,” Goten shared, baffled that Trunks did not know. Senzu beans were in a lot of the stories about Son Goku, and Goten had always assumed someone had told the same ones to Trunks at some point. 

Trunks’ expression changed. “So it can heal you?”

Yajirobe shrugged. “Yeah, except for scars and stuff.”

“Can I have one?” Trunks asked, peeking into the jar.

“No!” Yajirobe huffed, scuttling over and pulling the jar away. “It takes months for just one of those to grow, and that’s all I’ve got to eat!”

Goten pointed to the empty bag of potato chips by the bed. “What about those?”

Yajirobe blushed. “Shouldn’t you be eavesdropping on Korin right now, or something?”

Goten and Trunks realized that Yajirobe was absolutely right, and so they stuck their heads outside the doorway, ears attuned to pick up what was happening on the other side of the landing.

\---

Videl punched through the flour sack she had hung from the horns of the courtyard’s bull statue. It was her second one today, and she was still nowhere near finished letting her aggression out. Luckily, she had thought to bring a stack of them out with her before she started. She reached for a new one.

“Hey!” A shrill voice echoed across the dried grasses and alabaster stones of the courtyard. “Who told you that you could take those, huh?”

Videl whirled around and saw Gohan’s mother standing in the entryway directly behind her, hands on her hips and feet spread apart.

“Well?” Mrs. Son barked.

Videl had the forethought to bow. “Nobody did,” she said. “But I found a bunch of them in the kitchen and figured I could use them without troubling anybody.”

“Look, missy, we don’t get groceries from the store every week here! What’s in there has got to last!”

Videl had not considered that. “I’m sorry,” she bit out. “Gohan told me to help myself to anything I might need, and so I-”

Mrs. Son trampled down the grasses and overgrown flowerbeds in her path to Videl. “I don’t care what my son said,” she barked. “I know you’re used to using us for your personal gain, but I’m not about to have it anymore!”

Videl could feel her temper rise. “What? How?! That doesn’t make any sense!”

Mrs. Son ground her teeth. “Don’t you play dumb with me! And show my family some respect!” She tore the rope and the rest of the flour bag away from the statue. “How dare you!”

“Look, I didn’t mean-”

“You may be our guest, and I may have to treat you well, but that does not mean that you get to have your run of the place!” Mrs. Son hissed. “Find something to do that isn’t so destructive and childish, for God’s sake! You, of all people, training, of all things, here, in my house, of all places!”

“What else am I supposed to do here? We’re in the middle of nowhere!” She gestured to the statue and its weather damage. “And how was I supposed to know that was important? The whole place looks like trash!” Videl snapped, gesturing to the disheveled state of the garden. The tiles were crooked and overgrown, and the ponds around the statue were empty and dry. She felt certain that the dead plants in the flowerbeds were also not the originally intended ones, but weeds that had taken root after the first plants had died.

“You rude, ungrateful little--!”

“I never asked your son to come save us!” Videl shouted. “And I never asked for my family to get wrapped up in this stupid lie!”

“Well, that’s too bad! I didn’t ask for Gohan to help you, neither! I never asked for Gohan or myself to even have the displeasure of knowin’ you existed!” Mrs. Son screeched.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah!”

“Well, I don’t care! I don’t care what you think, or what the world thinks! I don’t even care who stopped Cell anymore! They probably paid even less attention to the real world than my dad because they were too busy getting stronger and stronger and didn’t care that my dad took the glory- because they were so busy looking for new monsters to fight that they forgot about everything else! They’d probably thought it was funny! That it was all just a joke- that my whole life was some twisted joke! They probably thought everything was funny, and probably didn’t even tell their families the truth, either, because they figured their kids and wives were just jokes, too, since nobody ever menti--”

The next thing Videl knew, Mrs. Son’s foot was in her face, and then she was skidding across the ground.

“Clean this up,” Gohan’s mother spat when Videl’s vision finally straightened out. “Clean it up right. And tomorrow, we’ll fix this garden, you little brat.”

\---

“So, Gohan, why this sudden interest in the spirit of martial arts?” Korin asked. 

Gohan glanced over at the doorway. He knew the boys were straining to hear the two of them. “I just wanted to know,” he said. “They’re young. And when I was their age, I was training almost all day. Because, well, I had to.” He searched for what he wanted to say. “But, they don’t have to. Not if they don’t want to.”

Korin’s ears flattened. “Spit it out. You’re really asking about Trunks and his father, aren’t you?”

How could he not, after everything that had happened? “It’s more than just that, though,” Gohan said.

Korin flicked his tail to and fro while he weighed the truth of Gohan’s words. “Well, I’m a minor Guardian, not a fortune teller, so I can’t tell you the best thing to do. I can only offer you advice and insight.” 

“That’s the best I was hoping for,” Gohan told him.

Korin shrugged. “Goten and Trunks are a pair. I can tell. They always have been, and always will be- for good or ill.” He yawned and padded across the landing to peer over the railing, as if he could see the people in question in the clouds. “And Vegeta spent his life trying to surpass your father because he thought that was what he wanted, and now he knows it isn’t. He’s looking for an equal, and combat is just his medium for finding one. Trunks is lucky- he’s already found his- and martial arts just so happened to be the medium he was first shown in which to find one, not the one he’s trapped himself in. Make sense?”

Gohan joined Korin and leaned on the railing. “You can’t teach an old dog new tricks,” he said.

“Mmm… Sort of. Vegeta needs an equal vis-a-vis combat because the fight is his life- at least, it’s the only one he’s willing to try and the only one he’s really suited for. Trunks just needs an equal, period. Whether he wants to pursue martial arts of some kind with his other half or not, who knows. It depends just as much on Goten.” Korin grinned. “I’d train them, though, definitely, if that was what they wanted. They would be great! And then they would go off and create something new with the art, so long as they always had the other to improve off of.” He stroked his whiskers. “Just Goten, on his own, though, I would not train.”

“Oh?” Gohan said.

“It’s easy to see how people assume he’s just like his father, but he’s not. He needs more stability than Goku ever did. He needs a fuller, more consistent life. Goten thinks like a child now, but that won’t be permanent.” A sliver of Korin’s pupil considered Gohan from between his three eyelids. “You already know all of that, though. He’s your brother.” Korin glanced over his shoulder at the two boys in the doorway and waved. They panicked and ducked back behind the wall. “Goten would not do well as a formal leader- rather, as a king, either.”

Gohan focused more intently on Korin.

“Yes, I know about your lives, Gohan,” the old cat said. “Few things on this Earth are mysteries to me.” He gestured upwards. “Or above it, actually.”

“Meaning?”

Korin’s tail flicked back and forth in minor annoyance, and he pointed with more enthusiasm. “Go see Dende. He wants to talk to you.”

Gohan’s eyes followed Korin’s paw. “I want to talk to him, too. And I want to see Piccolo.” 

Korin meowed. Gohan had no idea what to make of it.

Instead, he ignored it and frowned. “I should have brought more books for Dende with me. Or a potted amaryllis, the kind that grow in a month or so. He would have enjoyed watching one grow in front of him. Piccolo would have, too, but he’d never say it.”

“Piccolo as he is now is possibly more of a curmudgeon than Kami ever was,” Korin said.

Gohan smiled and allowed himself a snicker at Piccolo’s expense. “No, he’s not. He only worries and doesn't know how to say it.”

The old cat scoffed. “Of course you’d say that.” He swished his tail a few times. “Say, Gohan, what do you want out of your life?”

Long ago, Gohan had decided on becoming a scholar. Then, later, he had settled for being anything, so long as his family and his home stayed safe. And now, he was- or he would be, soon- the ruler of a small kingdom.

Gohan and Korin engaged in a staring contest while he searched his heart for answers.

Gohan always had so many people depending on him, it seemed like. He rubbed his forehead, and then at his eye to try and subdue the dull ache forming behind it. “I don’t know anymore, Korin.” He thought of his father, and then he thought of the cultist Thalia begging for him to help her. “Part of me wants to want to be what everyone expects me to be. And part of me,” he sighed. “Nevermind. It’s not important.”

The flat side of Korin’s staff connected with the top of his head. “It’s very important, Gohan! That’s why I’m asking!”

Gohan rubbed his crown. “You could have just told me that instead of hitting me!”

“Well, I didn’t know if I was gonna get through to you or not!” Korin argued. “But here’s the deal, kid. Your father was born with the soul of a martial artist, and it guided his whole life, start to finish. But you?” Korin shook his head. “You don’t have it. Not even a little bit, so stop thinking you can one day and wake up with it. You respect the art and think it’s great in theory, but we both know that’s never going to be the path you want to take. Even if for some ungodly reason you did take it for the long haul, it will never become you. It’s not a matter of hard work and effort. It’s just the way that you are.”

Gohan ran his hands over his face and rested his palms over his eyes. Korin was right. “I’m too scared of killing my opponent to do anything, and then, when I finally, finally did anything, I…” he swallowed. “I’ve always been like that. I thought I would do better after dad trained me and I ascended in preparation for Cell, but I was,” he tripped up on his tongue, which felt more and more like a wad of cotton in his mouth with each passing second, “I was very wrong.”

Korin’s ears moved every which way. “Well, you’re gonna have to learn to stop choking sometime. But I can tell you this- what you are doing might not be everything that’s tripping you up. It could be that what everyone else has taught you- or what you inadvertently learned from them- is really what's wrong.”

Gohan moved his hands to his forehead and regarded Korin with tired eyes. 

“You’re a shield, Gohan,” the old cat said. “So stop thinking like a sword.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning, you figure it out.” Korin padded over to the barrel in the center of the landing and pulled a teapot out from behind it. The character in the center of the white ceramic read “kami”. “But you climbed up the tower, right? And your little brother still can’t fly?”

“That’s right,” Gohan said, following the old cat.

Korin nodded and gestured to where the boys were lurking behind the doorframe. “Goten! You still want to play? ‘Cause I’ve got a game all ready for you,” he called, waving the teapot. Then, he looked back to Gohan. “Leave. I just told you that I don’t deem you worthy to train with me.”

“I’m sorry?” Gohan questioned.

“Go to the Lookout,” Korin nodded. “I said I’d train Goten and Trunks as one, and that’s what I intend to do.” He swatted at the air. “So get out of our way and go spend some time with my upstairs neighbors. You can come get the boys when you’re ready.”

“But-”

“Are you questioning the god of martial arts?” Korin asked.

Gohan put his hands up. “No, sir! It’s just that they haven’t had lunch, and--”

“Then they’ll have Senzu beans!” Korin hissed, gesturing with his staff. “Now get out of my fur!”

Gohan took to the air and waved to Trunks and Goten, who looked just as bewildered about the turn of events as he did. “I’ll be back,” he promised, and then darted off when Korin gave him another one eyed glare.

\---

Clio had found this place first, just before the Circle’s inception, and he had been the one to convince Erato to institute a Circle here in the Tsumisumbri Mountains to monitor it. Erato had not been inside this chamber since shortly after it had been dug out, but little seemed to have changed.

The room was really an underground cave that had long ago been blocked off from the outside world by rubble. The stalactites and stalagmites reached for one another from the top and bottoms of the cold cavern, and the rock along the walls was uneven and black. Bits of quartz jutted out here and there to reflect the light from the soft glow emanating from the pit at the center of the cave.

Erato extinguished the light of his inner flame and strode to examine the source of the light.

A perfectly round metal pod sat in the center of the pit. It had a single door that lay open on the ground and revealed a padded interior.

A tall, naked man sprawled across the open doorway and inside the pod, with hair a deeper black than even the rock in the cave and an expression of total peace on his face. He gave off a strange green light that encircled him and pulsed softly, like a heartbeat.

This man had been asleep since the day Clio had first found him, and nobody in the entire Circle had ever been able to break through the unusual energy field he cast around himself. Even more unusual, the comatose man did not seem to age during the seven years Erato’s people had been monitoring him.

“As I have said,” Terpsichore whispered, afraid, “he’s been moving in his sleep. He had never done that before we began our group meditations, not since he was first discovered. I believe he has been reacting to our concentrated demonstrations of Inner Flame.”

“The earthquakes.” Erato let his voice resound throughout the room. “Waking him had been their primary purpose, though, correct?”

Terpsichore held out a hand as if to quiet his Leader. “Originally, yes. That had been my goal. But please, Leader Erato,” the dancer said, “keep your voice low. If he turns out to be another Sun Child and we cannot handle him, waking him would be disastrous.”

Erato kept his voice at the same volume as earlier. Terpsichore had never been the type to cry wolf, and his Leader was intrigued by the whole development. ”What makes you think he could be?”

“The pulsations,” Terpsichore said. “The way his energy moves. I did not realize it until after the fact, but Son Gohan’s moves the same way, when he is calm. Otherwise, it becomes erratic.” He shook his head. “Calliope would have been the most apt for definitively confirming the comparison, but unfortunately, she was not around Son Gohan long enough to read his Inner Flame. Thalia, however, also mentioned to me how distinct Son Gohan’s energy flow was, and so I feel justified in bringing this detail to your attention.”

Erato nodded at Terpsichore. “I see. But what do you propose we do?”

Terpsichore frowned and put his hand on Calliope’s shoulder. “Proceed with caution. Bring Clio and his research team back in with better equipment to see if we can learn more definitive things about this creature before we awaken him.” He looked down at his student. “Heighten our security and protective measures.”

Erato chuckled to himself. “It should come as a great relief to you, then, that I have commissioned Capsule Corporation to create suits that enhance one’s natural inner flame. Originally, I had intended to buy them solely for my personal company, but after seeing the prototypes and plans, I decided to order a few more for the Circle itself.” He smiled at Terpsichore and Calliope. “It seems that those who ally themselves with this Vegeta figure are simultaneously allying themselves with us, too.”

Calliope frowned. Erato gave her a soft smile. “My dear, I know about your feelings on Vegeta. But if we can use him for our purposes in any way, then I believe we should.”

Calliope gave a resigned nod and watched the man in the center of the cave as he slept.

Erato followed suit. Then, he cleared his throat and then gave a fake, mighty sneeze that culminated in a shout.

The man in the pit twitched from the noise. 

Terpsichore pulled Calliope closer and silently panicked with his entire being while Erato raised his eyebrows.

“I do not know how I feel about your talk about gods and aliens,” Erato said when Terpsichore finally controlled his fear and turned it into a manageable tremble, “but I see your point, and I respect your fear. I will inform Clio to come here once he finishes the repairs to Melpomene. Once he has deemed that this man is still at a level we can manage and control, you will continue in your program to train new kindred and awaken him in the process.”

Terpsichore could not speak, so Calliope signed on his behalf. “Thank you, Leader,” she said.

Erato bowed and made his way back to the door, his two kindred close at hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a full-time job now rather than just freelancing and a part-time, so updates for all of my stories are going to be slower. 
> 
> (It should also be noted that the true "chapters" of this story are actually dictated by the --- page breaks, so each "scene" is actually a chapter, not the chapters themselves. The only thing you can count on is that each scene happens either in a chronological order or simultaneously to the one before/after it. If ever you are confused about the order of events, please tell me because it means I've screwed up.)
> 
> Thank you for reading and thank you even more to those of you who leave feedback!


	25. In Pursuit of Happiness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dende and Gohan...
> 
> ...I'll just say it up front. They have a fight.

The Lookout really did look like an enormous ramen bowl sitting in the sky, what with its red and blue underside and its porcelain floor. At least, that was what Gohan always thought of when he saw it.

He gently set himself down in front of Piccolo, who had paused in his meditations as Gohan touched down.

“I had expected you to wait longer before coming,” he said.

“Would you rather I stayed gone?”

Piccolo snorted. “You know what I meant.”

Gohan only nodded and received a stare in return. Piccolo was his teacher and mentor, but it was obvious that he was unsure what to say to his pupil.

Gohan offered him a place to start. “Trunks and Goten are with Korin. If it’s alright with you, I'd like to introduce you to Trunks. He gets Goten into lots of trouble, but he’s a good kid.”

His answer was more automatic than it was gracious. “I am sure.”

“You’re sure? About which part- getting my brother into trouble or being a good kid?”

Piccolo was completely unprepared for Gohan’s sass. “Ah,” he looked like he might get mad for a moment, and then actually thought about the question. “Both.”

Gohan smiled and waited for Piccolo to share whatever was weighing on his mind.

“I’m sorry, Gohan,” he said softly. “That is… all I can really say.”

“You don’t need to be sorry,” the boy said. “It had nothing to do with you. Still, I appreciate the thought.” 

Piccolo looked out at the Lookout’s horizon and kept his mouth in a hard line. The look in his eyes reminded Gohan of someone his mentor used to be. “I don’t understand the significance of a father or a grandfather as it pertains to you. I never have. “Family” is... a riddle to me.”

Gohan waited for him to continue.

“I am my father. Or, at least, I was, until I realized that he and I were not the same person. Even so, he was the first independent consciousness in my head. He never died. Not really.” Piccolo shifted. “Not in the way you would expect, anyway.” He looked at Gohan. “There are worse things than a physical death. You can remake yourself- revive yourself, rather- and live so long that you slowly lose your identity, piece by piece, until there is nothing left. Death has no meaning, at that point. But life has no meaning, either. There is only nothingness.”

“Yes, I know. Dende told me. That’s part of why the Namek Elders don’t normally condone resurrections or fusions. And also,” he smiled wider and more knowingly, “I think that, now that he has already passed, my grandfather would be happier if he was allowed to rest forever instead of being revived by the eternal dragon.”

If Piccolo was surprised by Gohan’s answer, he did not show it. “Good.”

“Did it really worry you so much?”

Now, Piccolo was visibly uncomfortable. “When you were small, you went out of your way to wish for my return,” he said.

“Those were very different circumstances,” Gohan confirmed. “And I was five, I think. I’m not five anymore.” He laughed. “Not that you can tell.”

“Hn,” Gohan’s mentor said. “If ever you wish to revive me again, barring that the Earth is in great jeopardy,” he added, “don’t.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’ve said my piece,” Piccolo closed his eyes. “I dislike repeating myself.” He crossed over to the edge of the Lookout in great, sweeping strides. His student watched him go.

Gohan was aware of Dende standing behind him before he spoke. “Piccolo is not sure what to do for you or how to proceed,” the Guardian said. 

While Gohan was the one in mourning, it was Piccolo who needed time to process it all. The stoic warrior was strange and detached, even with those he was closest with.

But then again, Piccolo did not know how to be close with someone in the first place. “It’s always been rare for Piccolo to know exactly what to do with me,” Gohan said, trying and failing to push all of his hair out of his eyes. “The fact that he takes the time to think about it at all is what counts.”

Dende came closer and took Gohan’s hands. It was how they had always greeted one another. In fact, Gohan himself was the one who began the tradition, if he remembered correctly.

That was a long time ago.

“I too am sorry about your grandfather,” Dende said. “And I want to do something for you, but I am not sure what would be appropriate.” He squeezed Gohan’s hands. “Is there anything I can do? You need only name it.”

“No, no,” Gohan said. “Except, maybe sit with me for a while, please. If you have the time.”

Dende lit up like the fluorescent lights in Gohan’s classroom. Well, his old classroom- Gohan would not be attending school anymore. “Of course! That would be wonderful! I would love to.”

“...Huh?”

“U-um, uh,” Dende stuttered, “not because I am happy about your grandfather’s death- of course not! I only,” he absentmindedly knit his fingers together with Gohan’s, “rather, it would not be a burden at all. And if it would please you, too, then all the better. It was not my intention to be insensitive.”

Gohan blinked down at his friend. “I mean, it’s fine, I just never expected you to sound so excited about the prospect of hanging out when I’m such a sad sack.” Gohan made to move for the edge of the Lookout, but Dende still had him in his grip. 

“I do not think you are a sack of sadness!” Dende was adamant. “You are not a phenomenon that inherently holds and distributes grief, but an individual that it is inflicted upon due to circumstance. This is not intrinsically your fault.”

Gohan stared, and then laughed. “That’s not what that expression means, Dende.”

“...Oh,” the Guardian said, and his cheeks flushed purple. “Please excuse me. I got ahead of myself.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Gohan looked out at the sky. “Do you mind if we go sit down?”

“Oh, of course. And would you like something to drink?”

Gohan shook his head. “No, I’ve got something in my bag.” He tugged at his hands. “But, um,” he smiled. Dende was sometimes very slow to release Gohan from their handshakes, especially when he was worried or excited. “I need you to let go of me, if you don’t mind.”

Dende looked down. “Oh,” he said, and let go of Gohan to fold his own hands together against his white robe. “I apologize.”

“It’s really okay,” Gohan soothed, and stepped across the tiles to the lip of the Lookout. He then sat down and let his legs dangle over the sides.

“So you climbed the Lookout today?” Dende said, following behind and perching on the space immediately next to Gohan. “That is quite a feat, considering you do not take advantage of your ki to do so. Are you tired?”

Gohan was tired of a lot of things. “The climb itself was not so bad,” he said.

Dende waited.

The sky was an ocean that Gohan could not see the bottom of. “I don’t know what to do, Dende,” Gohan admitted. “I’m lost.”

“Do not worry. I am sure you will find your way,” the Guardian encouraged. “Everyone is lost, sometimes, I think.” He smiled. “Look at Piccolo.”

“Look at Vegeta,” Gohan agreed. “Look at my mom. Look at all those people in that cult,” he said. “I guess it was my job to be, I don’t know, their shepherd, and I messed that up, too, didn’t I?”

“To think yourself responsible for the actions of another- not to mention so many- is preposterous,” the Guardian said. “Your father never was responsible for anything but himself, and I do not believe he ever intended for you to be held accountable for the lives and deeds of anyone but yourself.”

Maybe, in theory. But Son Gohan had inherited all of the consequences of Son Goku’s actions and was not sure that it had happened that way by coincidence. “But I am responsible for the people of Fire Mountain. I’m supposed to keep them safe and fed, even if that strange group tries to seek me out again.”

“I see,” Dende said, moving closer to Gohan.

“And I want to do that, but I don’t want to do so at the expense of another disaster like the tournament was, except on a larger scale.” Gohan looked up above himself. The sky gave the illusion that he was drowning, deep, deep down under water.

“You will know the right thing to do should it come to that,” the Guardian encouraged.

The boy doubted.

“You will. It’s in your nature to protect, not to start needless fights. You will conquer this, too. Not everything need be solved with force.”

This sounded familiar. “Were you listening to my conversation with Korin?”

“No, I was not,” Dende said. “But I do know that war does not suit you.”

“Ah.”

“Although, should I have been listening? Did he advise you to take some other action?”

“No, it’s nothing like that. It’s just,” his voice dropped to a whisper. “Dende, I never said thank you.” He swallowed. “Thank you for not letting me kill those people.”

The Guardian took Gohan’s hand again. The boy did not protest. It was comforting, in a way, to have someone besides his mother and brother reach out to him because they wanted to rather than because they needed to.

“I did not do anything. It was Goten. And,” Dende sent Gohan a gentle smile, “you are the one who stopped yourself, once you had a moment to remember. Yes, a reminder. That was all you needed.” Dende flipped Gohan’s palm over and traced the lines in his fingers, and then down and around to the heel of his hand.

Gohan watched the Guardian’s movements and voiced his disagreement with a sigh.

“Ah, but you did.”

“Dende.”

“You did!”

“I shouldn’t have lost my temper at all.” Gohan said. Then, he pushed the situation around in his mind in tandem with his tongue within his mouth. The words he found tasted sour and bitter, and he hated them. “Or should I have killed Terpsichore and avoided all of this in the first place?” Gohan knew his voice was getting louder. “The adult men in my family were sacrificed to my arrogance, both of them. Grandpa Ox because I thought I could spare some troublemakers and trust them to not come after me twice, and dad, I…” He sucked in a breath. “Mercy is my arrogance, and power is my arrogance. No, arrogance is my arrogance, plain and simple. It doesn't matter what words I use. It’s all the same.”

“We are all arrogant, in our way,” Dende said. “To be imperfect is not a death sentence.”

“Imperfection isn’t so bad, huh?” Gohan felt a memory well up from deep within him that he had tried to forget. It had golden eyes and black wings like an insect that brought plague. “Maybe. After all, I’ve been told not even perfection is good enough to keep you from harm.”

“Gohan,” Dende said.

Vanity of vanities, all is vanity.” Gohan was unsure if he was being sincere or not.

Dende pressed his palm to Gohan’s and softly wrapped his fingers around his wrist. “Gohan,” he tried.

“My father had the arrogance to use the Dragon Balls to fix all of his mistakes and, somehow, I never questioned it until now! I never questioned anything! Nobody ever questioned anything, and now that we are, it’s like--!” he searched the crystalline sky for an answer, or a cloud, or even a wisp of smoke, but he found nothing except blue.

Gohan realized that his fingers were sinking into Dende’s arm. He let go and flipped his hand back over so it dug into his own knee instead.

Dende made circles on the back of Gohan’s palm.

“...I’ve decided not to use the Dragon Balls to wish my grandfather back, like I told Piccolo. But,” Gohan rubbed at his eyes with his free hand. “Goten isn’t taking it well. I haven’t told mom, so I don’t know what she thinks. I don’t know what the citizens think. But I know it’s the right decision. For him, anyway. For the Ox King.”

“Yes, the Ox King is dead.” Dende looked into Gohan’s face. “Except not. You are the Ox King, now. Is that the right thing for you?”

“I am the Ox King,” Gohan repeated to himself. “I am the Ox King. I’m…” He felt a little sick. “I don’t know if it’s right for me or not, but I know that it isn’t what I want.”

Dende took back the hand Gohan had clamped around his leg and moved to claim Gohan’s other one, too. “Do you know what it is that you do want?”

Not at all. Gohan felt like he wanted everything and nothing all at once, but how was he supposed to know how it felt to be sure about what would make him happy? The only choices Gohan had ever been sure about were the ones he made out of desperation- ones he knew that he felt compelled to make, not ones that he necessarily wanted to make. “Dende,” the boy sidestepped the question, “when did you know that you wanted to be Guardian?”

“Oh! What an interesting question! Well, I believe,” Dende’s eyes moved upwards as he considered the question, “when your father came and asked us if anyone would like the position, definitely.” He smiled. “Yes! That was the first moment I knew that it was an option.”

“The minute you heard about it, you knew you wanted it? You just knew?”

“Not... exactly, in terms of the station, no,” the Guardian said. “I did not actually know what all the position entailed until I arrived here, honestly.”

Gohan furrowed his eyebrows. “You didn’t know?” He blinked. “You left your home and everyone you knew without even knowing what you were leaving for?”

“Not in detail. I knew that the Earth was in trouble and that you needed Wishing Orbs,” Dende said brightly. “Rather, Dragon Balls. Excuse me.”

Gohan could not believe he had never thought to ask Dende all of this before. “That was all? That’s the whole story? Nothing happened on New Namek that made you want to leave? You just heard that there was a job on Earth and took it, just like that?”

“Not exactly. Please understand that it was everything that went along with Guardianship that I was really after, not the position itself.”

“Like what?” Gohan’s eyes bugged out. “You wanted the power and authority?” He had never expected Dende to be the kind to crave such things.

“What? Oh, no, not that.” Dende’s smile softened. “I always assumed you knew. No, I came because Son Goku said that I would be able to be with you. And then he brought Krillin, too, which was wonderful.” Dende laughed. “How could I have refused?”

“You left your home and your people to see,” Gohan tried to fit everything together in his head, “me.” Something was not adding up.

The Guardian’s happy expression gleamed back at Gohan. “Yes. The idea was a little terrifying at first, but Moori thought it would be a perfect arrangement for me, too.” He brought Gohan’s hands together between his own. “Does that answer your question? You seem upset, somehow.” 

“You came here,” Gohan broke it down as best he could, “and abandoned the planet you fought so hard for- the planet you died for, and left your whole family behind just to see me.” Dende’s answer was the antithesis of everything that motivated Gohan. It was nonsensical to him.

The Guardian brought Gohan’s hands to his chest. “Yes, I did.”

Gohan considered Dende carefully, and then smiled ruefully. “I never took you as the type to try to inflate my ego with exaggerated sweetness,” he said.

“E-excuse me?”

Gohan frowned. “You can tell me the truth, Dende. If something bad happened on New Namek, or if you did something to alienate you from your people, you can tell me. You don’t have to treat me like a little kid just because I’m grieving.”

“You think I am lying?” Dende asked, gripping Gohan’s hands more tightly.

“I think you’re telling me the sugar-coated version of the story.”

Dende furrowed his eyebrows. “The only possible rift created between myself and my tribe was how I missed you and the Earth so deeply while they did not. But they are still my brothers, and I still love them, and they, me.”

“Am I supposed to believe that they sent you here just because?”

“My appointment as Earth’s Guardian was meant as neither banishment nor escape,” the Guardian said. “And I wanted it. I do not understand why this is so unbelievable to you.”

“People don’t make those kinds of decisions without a real reason,” Gohan said. “There’s no way that you came to live here because of a passing fancy.”

Dende moved closer to Gohan, his expressive eyes wide. “It is not a passing fancy! I came here out of love! The whole decision was born from goodwill and love. Not only from the people of Namek to those of Earth in a time of crisis, but from Moori the Elder to one of his children, passed from Guru!” He nodded. “And of mine, to you! Always, to you!”

Gohan felt his heart sink in his chest. “So Moori chose for you to come here?”

Dende kept his eyes fixed on Gohan’s and his hands clamped to the boy’s, like if the Guardian let go, he might fall apart. “I chose,” he said. “Moori encouraged.”

Gohan searched for the right words. “Dende, sometimes, people you love do things to you- or make you do things- that are not necessarily loving. And you want to tell yourself that, surely, their actions were guided out of love, and so you blind yourself to the truth of--”

“This is not that,” Dende insisted.

“Dende-”

“It is not that at all!”

“Okay, okay. I didn’t mean to pry. What you choose to tell me is up to you.”

“I do not mind answering your questions, I only dislike that you doubt my words and feelings!”

Gohan watched the fire dance behind Dende’s wet eyes and wondered if he had looked this pitifully convinced whenever he thought that Son Goku might come back for his family someday.

“Nameks do not lie!” Dende all but shouted. “Please stop questioning my affections!”

“I didn’t say anything,” Gohan soothed.

The Guardian’s eyelids opened so wide that Gohan could see that his pupils were actually a deep purple, not just black. “You do not need to speak! I can sense it in your head and your heart!”

One of Gohan’s hands escaped from Dende’s grip and moved to the Guardian’s trembling shoulder. “I’m sorry. I won’t bring it up again. We can forget that this whole conversation happened, if you want.” He licked his lips. “Sometimes, it’s better to forget things than to dwell on them, anyway.”

The Guardian shook his head vigorously. “But I want you to understand! This is not the same as when Son Goku used you to fight his demons, so please stop telling yourself that it is!”

Gohan felt Dende’s words run through him. His ears began to ring.

“I know it!” Dende said. “And Nameks do not lie unless they are piccolo.” His eyes started to water. “I can sense intent and hear thoughts. I know what you were thinking about just now, and I know what Moori was thinking back then because I remember how surprised and happy I was when I discovered that we were of one mind on the subject. This is neither conjecture nor denial, but the truth!” The Guardian pushed the hand that he still held captive against his robe with more passion. “Not everything that you do not understand is inherently malicious and hurtful, and not all of us ask ghosts to haunt our hearts instead of letting in the living!”

Gohan stared at Dende. The reflection of the oppressive sky bouncing off the Lookout’s tile was far too blue and far too bright.

The Guardian’s face melted into tears at the boy’s expression, whatever it was. Gohan was at a loss when it came to knowing his own face in times like these. 

“Forgive me,” Dende said, intertwining his fingers with Gohan’s. “Please forgive my hasty words. I never meant,” his breath shook as he inhaled, “I never meant to insult you.”

“But that’s what you think,” Gohan said.

“I,” Dende hiccuped, “I only mean to say that you are dwelling on past mistakes, and--”

“It’s what you think,” Gohan repeated. “Nameks do not lie.”

Dende began to cry harder. “Please,” he said, “forgive me.” He drew Gohan’s hand to his face and rested his forehead to the boy’s knuckles. “It had been my intention to comfort you, not to create more tension. This is my fault.”

Gohan only watched as Dende cried.

“Are you,” Gohan swallowed, “happy? As Guardian?”

Dende kept quiet and squeezed Gohan’s fingers.

“Do you enjoy it? Being Guardian.”

“I am happiest when you are here,” Dende whispered.

“That’s it? That’s all you want?

“...No. I want to see more of the Earth firsthand. I want to see Krillin, and experience the people of this world. I want to see you. I have my whole life to spend on the top of this ivory tower,” he inhaled and looked up at Gohan, “but I am already tired of always watching from a distance and never really experiencing! But I want to see you!” He shook his head. “I do not see how I can have both things! I am Guardian, and I am the Guardian because I am the Dragon. And you are… You are…” Dende reached out for Gohan. He looked utterly lost. “Forget about my problems. You have come here to assuage your own and I am selfishly monopolizing the time with pointless drivel,” he whispered. “Please forgive me.”

“What would you do if you were not Guardian?” Gohan asked. He made no move to pry Dende off of his shirt.

“I… I would… I…” he drew in a breath. “You showed me so many places in so many books, I…”

“Start small, if you have to.”

Dende trembled, and then looked up at his friend. “What does snow feel like?” His voice was weak. “What… what do the streets of a city really smell like? How does the wool of a sheep feel between your fingers?” Dende forced himself to take a breath. “Does the water from a honeysuckle taste different than from a lake? What do they smell like?” He shuddered and kept going. “How different does it feel to walk through a valley of flowers than to walk through a water garden? Do people really make labyrinths out of roses? What does it feel like to be lost in one? What is it like to be lost in a crowd? Is that different?” Dende searched Gohan’s face. “What is it like to walk in a street- whether people stare at you or whether they ignore you, it matters little- what is it like? And,” he looked at his hands, “how can a place exist where there is no water at all, and yet be considered natural? Drought is only the stuff of nightmares to me. So, what is it like to stand in a desert, and know that, somehow, there is life inside of it, and even more beyond it?” He choked. “Mount Paozu I have seen so little of, and it is so impossible to me- a thriving forest! How tall is the tallest tree? Is it taller than the agisa? What does an acorn feel like in your hand? What do all the other bugs in the book I gave to Goten look like when they move in front of you? If I were to stay on the mountain, could I feel the seasons as they change? Could I hear the plants die and then be reborn as the Spring emerges? Would I be amazed from being so close, or only saddened?”

Gohan put his arms around his friend. Dende stiffened, at first, but then let himself be pulled in.

“What is it really like to stand in front of a monument to a God- any God, a worthy God- and feel humbled?” Dende asked. “Is it like standing in the middle of the ocean and seeing no shore? And is the ocean really so big that you truly cannot see the shore from its center, like you tell me? Like I see in my mind’s eye? Does the water really taste like salt on your tongue? Are there truly places where sand is white? Where it is black? What does that feel like to walk on?” He gripped Gohan’s clothes more tightly.

“I’m sorry, Dende,” the boy said.

“Namek had three suns,” Dende said. “But Earth’s night is dark. It sets me on edge. I do not rest like you need to, but the darkness makes it harder.” He rested his forehead against Gohan’s shoulder. “What is it like to sleep next to someone else and know that, should the sun not have come back up even when you awaken, that person will still be next to you?”

“Dende, I am so sorry.”

“Do you know about those things?” The Guardian asked. “I want to know. I have wanted to know since the moment I first came to Earth.” He coughed. “That is why Moori sent me here, because he knew I wanted you to teach me.”

\---

Satan City’s newsstands were covered in conspiracies like hair on an unkempt dog.

“Great Saiyaman: Cultist?”

“Is Saiyaman with the Circle?”

“Is Hercule Satan Really the Devil?”

“Saiyaman: The City’s Noble Vigilante, or Treacherous Fraud?”

“Cell: The Lie Metastasizes!”

Sevoya took one look at the headlines and turned right around to take another path to the mall. She had skipped school again today, but had been desperate for a place to lurk besides her house. She still could not stand to stay there, yet.

She could not stand to stay anywhere, really. Sevoya reached into the pocket of her dress and fingered the piece of notebook paper inside. It was still there.

A group of businessmen in suits blocked her path, all discussing stocks and how their company was ruined because Hercule Satan had endorsed it. Sevoya ducked into a nearby alley to escape their noise.

She found a stranger in a black hood and a Monkey King mask.

“Hey,” they said. “I can’t believe you made this so easy for me.”

Sevoya reached for her mother’s old locket strung around her neck. It matched the emerald earrings her father had given her, but she almost never wore it. The past few days had been a special exception. “What do you want?” She snapped.

“Woah, woah, this isn’t what you think.” The stranger held up their hands and threw down their hood. The stranger’s short, red hair stood out even in the shade of the buildings. “I’m not trying to jump you. I just want to ask you some things. See? You know me.” 

“...I can’t see through your mask, creep. Or is that just your face?”

“Oh. Right. Yeah. Sorry.” The stranger took off the mask, too. The cultist Thalia grinned back at Sevoya. “Yeah, I should’ve taken this off first rather than the hood,” she said as an afterthought.

Sevoya turned around and made a break for the open streets.

Thalia was in front of her after a few steps and put her in a hold. “O-kay! Or we can do this the hard way!” She pulled Sevoya behind a dumpster.

Sevoya struggled, but accomplished a spectacular amount of nothing.

“Cute shoes,” Thalia said as the girl tried to kick her. “But anyway, do you know where Son Gohan is? I need to know before my people do because they might do something stupid, like find him.”

“Like you don’t know,” Sevoya spat. “You and your people have eyes everywhere, right?”

“Honey, if you aren’t careful, the only place all my eyes are gonna be are up your skirt. Wear a longer one, jeez. I don’t want to see your underwear.”

“Maybe if you let go of me and my clothes it would fall where it is supposed to!”

“Point taken. But seriously, where is he? He’s not on Mount Paozu and none of the funeral homes anywhere have him or his family listed, and he wasn’t at his grandfather’s kingdom today, either.”

“Kingdom?” Sevoya asked. “What are you talking about?”

Thalia raised her eyebrows. “You really were out of sorts at the tournament, huh?” She cocked her head. “Say, does the name “Dende” mean anything to you?”

“...Leave me alone, you bitch!”

Thalia snorted and let Sevoya go. “Fine, fine. I was gonna help you if you helped me, but I guess not,” she said, and disappeared as she replaced her hood and mask. 

\---

Goten tossed his Senzu bean down the hatch the moment he got it. “Gross!” he said.

“You better swallow that,” Korin threatened. “These beans are incredibly valuable and I don’t want to see any of them go to waste just because you didn’t like them. Pretend it’s something else, if you have to.”

Goten pouted, and then stuck out his tongue. “Look! Now it’s seafood. ‘Cause see? Food!”

“I get it,” Korin said. “But that’s gross. Stop.”

Goten swallowed it and made a face. “I hate vegetables, even magic ones.” He did feel full, though, and suddenly bursting with energy, like he might actually be able to steal Korin’s teapot of special water after a few more tries.

“Beans aren’t vegetables, stupid,” Trunks said.

“Yeah they are!”

“No, they aren’t!”

“Yeah-huh!”

“Nuh-uh!”

Korin buried his face in his paw.

Goten shrugged. “But anyway, whadda you think about how they taste, Trunks?”

Trunks’ eyes widened. “Uh,” he said. “It’s… it’s like you said! Gross! Yeah!” He fiddled with his belt. “Really gross!”

Goten grinned and hopped to his feet. “Well, whatever. Are you ready to get that water?”

“Uh… already?” Goten’s best friend wilted. “Can’t we rest for a little longer?”

“What? You’re still tired?” Goten whined. “But you ate the bean! You did! Didn’t it work?”

Trunks did not sound very sincere. “Y-yeah! Yeah, you’re right! What am I talking about!” He got to his feet. “C’mere, you old cat!”

Korin flicked his tail. “Before we begin, we have a visitor,” he said, and gestured for the boys to look behind them as a quiet shadow fell over them.

Gohan’s teacher, Piccolo, stood over both Trunks and Goten with crossed arms and a scary expression.

The younger boy jumped and bowed.

Trunks was not so polite. “Uh,” he said.

Goten watched with one cracked eyelid as Piccolo leaned down and pulled a Senzu bean from Trunks’s belt.

“Hey!” the boy said. “That’s mine!” He tried to snatch it back from the huge, green warrior.

Piccolo caught Trunks’s arm and held him. “Gohan tells me you are a troublemaker,” he said, and put the bean back into the boy’s hand. “Do not pretend that you can keep all of your schemes a secret.” He looked over at Goten. “Stand. I came only to introduce myself, not to stand on formalities.”

Goten did as he was told and looked to and from Piccolo’s frightening scowl.

Korin snickered like he knew something the boys did not.

“I am Piccolo,” he said, glowering down at all of them. “And if you have any other questions about your father, Trunks, you will come to me with them. Do you understand?”

The boys blinked. Trunks was the first to speak. “Sorry, but, uh, you’re really freaky. I wasn’t paying attention to what you had to say after the bean part. Could you repeat that?”

Korin laughed louder as Piccolo’s face wrinkled into a deeper frown. 

“...Forget it, you little brat!” Piccolo barked.

Korin stepped forward. “Will Gohan be coming down soon?”

“Soon is a... relative term,” Piccolo said. “I cannot say much beyond that.”

The cat grinned, but such an expression from a cat could mean anything. “It went that badly, huh?”

“I do not understand any of it, so don’t look at me for answers,” Piccolo said. “I could not tell you- even if I wanted to. But I don’t like it at all. I don’t like any of it.”

“Some friendly advice? You’re probably gonna have to get used to it.” Korin brushed Piccolo off and looked back to the children. “Well, boys, it looks like you’ve still got some time to try and impress me,” he said, adjusting the teapot’s position on his staff. “So how about it?”

Goten immediately dove for Korin. When he the cat somehow got away from him, it only encouraged the little boy to try again, and again, and again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, as always, to those who leave any kind of feedback!


	26. The Mourning Boy and Sevoya

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sevoya remembers the Day The World Was Supposed To End, and the boy who prevented that from happening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS FOR IMPLICATIONS AND THE DISCUSSION OF SUICIDE, IN CASE IT WAS NOT ALREADY INHERENTLY OBVIOUS IN SEVOYA’S CHARACTER.
> 
> Thank you as always for reading and for leaving feedback!
> 
> If Heavy were an anime, the ending theme would be Everclear's New York Times, and would consist of Gohan and Sevoya's first meeting.

The basement was homey and finished, and it filled Sevoya’s heart with dread to behold it. She sat on the couch in front of the television, her knees pulled to her chest, and stared at the blank screen.

Seven years ago, it had shown the face of a monster, and of men with golden hair, and of a strange boy who had finished the broadcast with a decisive, horrific scream.

“Sometimes,” Sevoya’s mother had said to her as she latched an emerald necklace around her daughter’s neck, “our death is all we have. We can choose to die by our own hand instead of letting a monster have the satisfaction of sealing our fate. You and I have the power to choose how we will die, so consider yourself blessed, and make your choice wisely, Sevoya.”

Sevoya opened the compartment in the pendant of that same necklace- the one that matched the earrings her father gave her, the one she almost never wore- and smoothed her fingers over the tablet inside.

She considered the carpet on the floor. It was that off-white color that covered the floor of her room, and of her parent’s room, where her mother and her baby sister had laid like they were sleeping once the boy on the television had stopped screaming.

\---

The sun sat low over the Ox Kingdom’s horizon when Gohan and his brother could finally make out its borders from the mess of mountains and dried trees of the sprawling landscape in front of them.

Gohan could not say if he was relieved or disheartened by the sight of it, really.

Beside him, Goten was pressing his fingers into the fluffy golden mass of the Nimbus cloud and picking out bits of it like blades of grass from the dirt. They had not spoken to one another for the entire journey from Capsule Corporation, and Gohan had taken the opportunity to get lost in his thoughts.

“Hey, Gohan?” Goten asked, and the rest of his mumbling was lost to the roar of the air whizzing by their ears. In fact, his older brother almost did not realize he was being addressed at all.

“What?” Gohan asked, landing on the back of the Nimbus cloud and pulling his little brother into his lap so he could hear him over the wind.

“I was asking if Dende was mad at you,” Goten said. “You didn’t say much when you came back down from the Lookout, and Korin said something weird when Piccolo mentioned that you two were talking.”

“Oh,” Gohan said. He ruffled his brother’s hair. “No. He’s not mad.”

“Then, are you mad?” Goten asked. “Mad at Dende?”

“No, Goten,” Gohan told him.

“Oh,” the little boy said. “Well, that’s good, because best friends aren’t s’posed to be mad at each other. Trunks was mad at me two weeks ago, and I was mad at Trunks, and it was awful.”

Gohan ran his fingers through his brother’s locks and straightened them back out. “Yeah.”

“Hey, Gohan?” Goten asked.

“Mm-hmm?”

Goten turned around and peered into his brother’s face, like he was trying to look through it and see inside of Gohan’s mind. He screwed his mouth into a twisted line and focused, and then finally shook his head. “Never mind,” he said.

“What?” Gohan pried.

“Nothin’.”

“C’mon, what?”

Goten started talking with his hands, and then laced them together when he realized that they were not saying anything. “You got that look on your face. The one you get where you say one thing, but you’re thinking about saying something else.”

“I…” Gohan licked his lips. “What do you mean?”

“You were wearing it a second ago,” Goten said. “You said Dende wasn't mad at you and you weren’t mad at Dende, but you had a look like there’s more to it than just that.”

“Well, Goten, there is, but that doesn't mean we’re mad at each other. I didn’t think it was something you needed to be concerned with.”

The little boy sat up straighter. “But I’m your brother and I don’t want you to be sad, so you should tell me!”

Gohan sized up the child in his lap, and then smiled. “Thank you, squirt.” He mussed Goten’s hair again.

The little boy brightened. “So tell me!”

“Huh?”

“Tell me what’s bothering you. You gotta tell me so I can tell you how to fix it, like you and mom always do for me!”

Gohan laughed despite himself. “I appreciate that, but I don’t really have much to say. It’s just that a lot has been happening lately, and I need some time to, um, take it all in.”

His little brother pouted at him. “Really?”

“Really really.” Gohan said.

Goten’s eyes bore holes into his brother at first, but then he abandoned his prying and turned around to face forwards again. He slowly relaxed against his brother’s stomach.

Gohan was not lying- he was not mad at Dende. No, he was angry at himself for how little he really understood about the situation he found himself in, and how selfish his frame of mind had been for the past seven years. As Goten had inadvertently pointed out, Dende was Gohan’s best friend- and in all this time, he had never even known why the Namek became Guardian in the first place! 

Gohan barely knew anything about anything!

He wondered if, by returning to the Ox Kingdom and leaving the Lookout, he was running away from an obligation to stay with Dende. Or, if he returned to the Lookout, would he be running away from the responsibilities of his family and inheritance? Had leaving school been a necessity, either, or cowardice? Gohan could not tell. Obligations and expectations, both falsely perceived and legitimately confirmed, swirled together in a mess inside his skull.

The sun settled lower behind the horizon. Goten yawned.

Truth be told, Gohan was most frightened by the prospect of an inevitable marriage. The whole idea was strange- he was royalty, legally sixteen, not human, and had no clue how to attract or take care of someone else in the first place, or share his life with them when he was already trying to break it up between his brother and his mother and everyone else he knew.

Perhaps he could talk his mother out of imposing that upon him, at least until he was older.

In his lap, Goten stirred. “I want Trunks to be okay, and for Uncle Vegeta to be okay.”

“Me too,” Gohan said.

Gohan nodded off a little more deeply. “Maybe he’ll give that Senzu bean to his dad tonight.”

“Yeah, maybe he-” Gohan sat his brother up and whirled him around to face him. “Senzu bean? Trunks took a Senzu bean from Korin?”

His little brother groggily nodded. “Yeah. Why?”

Gohan felt himself pale. “Goten, I’m gonna drop you off and then go back to the Briefs’, so I probably won’t be here in the morning. Okay?”

“Do you not want Uncle Vegeta to get up, either? Is it because of the things you said he used to do?”

Gohan realized he did not know how to answer that. “I just want to be there when he does wake up,” he decided. “Everything will be okay.”

Goten frowned. “Well, I wanna come, too!”

“No,” his big brother said. “Not this time.”

“But-!”

“I said no, Goten. Don’t argue with me.”

“Gohan!” His brother begged.

“Goten!” The voice that came out of Gohan’s mouth reminded him of his father’s from long, long ago, on the eve of Namek’s destruction. It was full of something ugly, something that slept in Gohan’s core that he himself tried to pretend was not there.

The little boy cowered.

Gohan dropped back down to a softer tone. “I said no.”

His little brother nodded, and then made his new seat on the front of the Nimbus and out of Gohan’s lap.

\---

“Wear white,” Sevoya’s father had said, tears falling down his face. “Your mother always loved seeing you in white, and you and I are still alive. The world has gone on another day. And black is hardly the color for a celebration, you know?”

The citizens of Orange Star City could care less that Sevoya and her father were carrying the corpse of a woman and child through the streets- the dead were rising all over the world, or so the news said. Soon, it would be the Anillo family’s turn to see their dear departed arise anew.

Mysteriously, though, this was not the case. Mana and Juna Anillo stayed as dead as they had been since the moment Sevoya had found them in the bedroom.

She burst out of the funeral home in a fit of despair after a day and a half of waiting for a miracle that never came. Her father followed after her, panicked, but she eluded him by throwing herself headlong into the crowds celebrating Hercule Satan’s victory.

The throngs of people outside in the throes of celebration swallowed her whole and pushed her through their ranks until she was even more lost than she had ever hoped to be.

A drunken man tried to grab her, and then threw her down when he realized she was not who he thought she was. Someone else tried to hoist her over their shoulders despite her protests, and when she finally escaped from them and the parade of painted, overly enthusiastic faces that followed after, she came face to face with a replica of Cell being burst apart by a blindfolded woman with a bat in her hands. More people shoved into Sevoya, and suddenly rain was coming down hard instead of just candy.

Two figures got into a fight over whatever was in the piñata’s head. One of them slipped and bowled into the other, and the ensuing chaos between the two of them developed into a full-scale brawl.

Sevoya scrambled away, in search of somewhere dry and without so many people. Suddenly, she slipped on the water-slicked ground and fell onto her face. As she struggled to her feet, her vision blurred and with something wet running down her temple, she became more and more frantic to find an escape from the swirl of indiscernible color and sound blocking her path in every direction. People reached out to touch her in ways she knew were not accidental. Some screamed at her, probably out of joy at the festivities, but sounded like banshees to her ears. Liquor and bodily fluid covered the streets and splashed on her shoes and hair along with confetti and the torrential rain. A woman pulled her hair for looking so gloomy. Another man vomited on her.

Sevoya finally, finally fell headlong into an island of sanity amidst the sea of people. She pulled herself up off her hands and knees and marveled at how, in this one spot, it was somehow dry.

Then she looked up, and realized that she was not alone.

A boy about her age- with hair deeper than the night and eyes to match- held a black umbrella over both of their heads.

He shifted the bouquet of white lilies he held in his other hand so that it rested in the crook of his arm. Then, he helped Sevoya to her feet.

The two of them stood there, side by side, and watched the people of Orange Star throw themselves wholeheartedly at the task of making merriment because of a postponed apocalypse.

Sevoya examined her savior a little closer. His suit was pressed to perfection and fit for a funeral, unlike her soiled white dress, and he even held a snowy bouquet in his hands.

“Where do you live?” The boy asked.

“The...” Sevoya found that words could not come easy to her right now. “The Lucky Egg. On the perimeter of the city’s commercial district.”

The boy nodded. “Can you show me the way?”

Sevoya peeked out from the edge of the umbrella and tried to orient herself. “Uh… yeah,” she said, “I think… I think I know how to go.”

“If you’ll lead, I’ll follow with the umbrella,” he offered.

She took the mourning boy’s hand more to steady herself than anything else, and clumsily lead them both in the direction of her home. The umbrella worked wonders at deflecting people and parting the crowds large enough for two children to slip through, and Sevoya was intensely grateful.

The walk was long. How long, Sevoya could not say, but she and the mourning boy said nothing as they braved the crowded streets and finally stood before the Lucky Egg, which looked just as drenched and soiled by human overenthusiasm as Sevoya herself did. The words “unbelieving heretics” and other, uglier words were sprayed upon the facade, accompanied by signatures and gang tags in an urban rainbow of spray paint colors.

“Are you okay to go in by yourself?” The boy asked.

Sevoya nodded stupidly and headed towards the door. “Do… you want to come in?” She asked him.

The boy shook his head. “I need to go,” he said. “These flowers are a gift for someone, and I need to make sure they get delivered.” The boy in black quietly bowed and began to take his leave once Sevoya had opened the front door to her home.

“Hey,” he said suddenly, turning to face her. “Please don’t look so sad.” He smiled. “Don’t let all of this scare you. Tomorrow’s a brand new day. Nobody can take that away from you anymore, or ever again. And yesterday never comes twice, either, you know.”

Sevoya nodded dumbly.

The boy smiled again, and left just as suddenly as he had appeared.

That had been Sevoya’s first meeting with Son Gohan.

He was like a ghost- a specter of hope and goodwill she never realized she had needed- and Sevoya had resigned herself to never seeing him again, until she saw him two years later in her restaurant, with a baby boy slung on his shoulders, and then again in the classroom across from her own.

She wanted to know who he mourned for, and what he thought about the world after the Apocalypse, and how it made him feel. Sevoya wanted to know what kind of person could even try to comfort someone else about death when it already surrounded them, wholly and fully.

Sevoya closed her locket shut again. She was going to find Gohan before he was pulled away forever, and she was going to ask him all the things she had been unable to broach with him before. What came after that, she did not know, but she at least wanted to do that much.

\---

Clio kept his laboratory in West City like a darkened burrow, with newspapers and food scattered about willy-nilly amongst his technology and tools. Melpomene lay on a table in the center of the room, still as a corpse, and Thalia was a little horrified to find that Clio had steadied his most recent meal on top of Melpomene’s chest.

“Back so soon?” The mad hare snatched a carrot from the offending to-go box sitting atop Melpomene’s torso and munched on it. “Did your little field trip go well?”

Thalia hated how Clio always knew things about her that she did not want him knowing. She deftly moved the box of carrots off of her supine counterpart and deposited them on the floor. “Obviously you already know it didn’t, since it was supposed to be a secret but isn’t and you probably spied on me the whole time,” she quipped.

“Oho, but it’s a secret between us, you know? You know old Clio won’t tell anybody.” He turned to her and grinned. The eerie light from his plethora of computer monitors reflected off of his glass eyepiece and his giant teeth. “I want what you want, after all!”

Thalia did not believe any that for an instant. “How is Melpomene?”

“All of his systems are operational and his bodily functions are fine. He’s breathing and everything, which is, I think, how us living things prefer to work, generally speaking.”

“Yeah, all the blips and beeps in the room tell me that your gadget on the back of his head works, but what about Melpomene? Is he conscious and just not speaking, or what?”

Clio tapped his main monitor and frowned at the numbers. “Until Calliope comes back, asking me to tell you that is a useless endeavor,” he griped. “But I can ask him, if you want.” He hopped over towards where Melpomene lay on the table and tapped on his head. “Hello? Are you awake in there yet, or are you still on autopilot?”

Melpomene only blinked, vacant and steady.

“Nobody’s home.” Clio put his paws on his hips. “But honestly, you should be grateful he’s even doing that. For a while I had to wet his eyeballs myself because I couldn’t calibrate him to blink properly.”

Thalia prayed that Clio meant that he had used solution and not his own saliva. “Blinking doesn’t mean anything if the rest of him is brain dead. The machine blinks for him, regardless of what Melpomene wants. So don’t give me that as your way of weaseling out of an answer.”

Clio snorted. “All that time I spent on repairs, and this is the thanks I get!” He snapped up another carrot and chomped down on the end with a rude noise. Then, he let his ears fall flat behind his head and widened his eyes to make the perfect picture of a victim. “Honestly, Thalia, it’s almost as if you think I,” he placed a paw gently to his chest, “put this horrible machine in him in the first place!”

“Because you did,” she deadpanned.

At first, Clio looked shocked, but then broke out into a wicked smile. “You’re right,” he giggled, showing off the food in his mouth, “I did!” He bounced around the room and shuffled through tools and wires in a manic fit of amusement. “But it worked, you know! Melpomene could’ve died if I had done the ethical thing and waited for his consent! But he didn’t! So!” He whirled around towards Thalia, his voice suddenly quiet, and held out a metal box towards her, almost reverently. “You should be happy I’m on your side, Thalia. You never know when you need somebody just harebrained enough to make those pesky, necessary calls everyone else is too afraid to make.” He stuffed the rest of his carrot into his mouth and swallowed it without chewing.

“Look, don’t pretend like I don’t know that you were just looking for an excuse to try that old piece of junk out on somebody.” Thalia eyed the box, but didn’t take it.

Clio held it out to her with more vigor. “It is not every day you find a man stuck between autonomous functioning and cadaverous status. I couldn’t live with myself if I threw such a chance away!” He tossed the box aside in a fit of gravitas and lifted up one of Melpomene’s limp arms instead and wiggled it to and fro so that the hands shook at the martial artist’s gargantuan wrists. “Besides! Look how wonderful he is now!” Clio let the arm drop. “Or would be, if he was actually working the way he was supposed to.” The hare shrugged and hopped back over to the console of his computer. “His consciousness should return in a few days, when his frontal lobes recover from all the shock he’s been through.” Clio pulled out a bunch of rotting grapes from another styrofoam box that was closer to his person and stuffed them into his mouth, stem and all. “Probably.”

“Couldn’t we, like, measure his brainwaves, or something?” Thalia asked.

Clio scoffed. “Oh, but my dear Thalia, that’s what doctors do. And I am not a doctor. Are you?” He sent papers and wires in up in the air when he suddenly dashed across the room to snag another carrot from the box by Thalia’s feet. “Nyeeeh, what’s up, doc?” He noshed on the vegetable, and then laughed in her face like he had just told the funniest joke in the world.

Thalia took a step back and wiped off the bits of spittle and carrot he blew onto her cheek with the back of her hand.

“Besides, the chip in the back is actively working to suppress his consciousness, anyway. There was only so much overriding I could do on its original code and functions before I was forced to put it in him the first time.” Clio positioned a dramatic paw upon his brow, and then shook his head. “Those little monitors that those little licensed medical people in those little hospitals can’t tell us as much about Melpomene as our little Calliope can, whenever she comes back to visit.”

Thalia crossed her arms. “That’s not gonna be for awhile. She and Terpsichore took off to the High Northeastern Circle yesterday, and they probably won’t be coming back unless Erato summons them again- which happens almost never. I’ll bring you the machines myself and we'll try them out.”

“Erato? Summoning them?” Clio’s ears swiveled to and fro, and he sniffed Thalia with interest. “But Terpsichore summoned Erato!”

She pushed him away.

Clio did not resist her force, but his searching nostrils still quivered as they continued filling themselves with her scent. “Oh, no, you don’t know! You don’t smell scared enough to know, no!”

Thalia scoffed. “Don’t change the subject because you don’t like the idea of me bringing foreign tech into your shithole lab,” she said.

Clio grinned again. He had a piece of something shoved between his buck teeth. “Terpsichore never told you about what’s below the Tsumisumbri Mountains! Ooh. And here I thought he had really taken a shine to you!” He coyly cast his eyes to the ground, and then back to Thalia’s face. “I guess it’s because you’re a martial artist. He doesn’t think you’ll understand.”

Thalia rolled her eyes. “Clio, don’t play this game with me. I know you’re trying to start something that doesn’t need to be started. Just make sure Melpomene is okay, please? I need to speak to Erato about something before I leave, and I don’t have time for your weird games.”

The hare shook his head. “Poor Thalia. She doesn’t know! Erato isn’t here. He went to the High Northeastern Circle with Terpsichore and Calliope.”

“Clio, stop,” she chided.

The hare stomped his feet on the ground and pounded out something on his keyboard. Suddenly, the monitors around the room changed to the security feed of the Western Circle complex. He pointed to the monitors corresponding to Erato’s offices and chambers, and then gestured all around the room to the monitors displaying the occupants of the other rooms in the complex. “I don’t see Erato. Do you see Erato?” He blinked at Thalia and faked innocence. “Where’s Erato?”

Thalia was unimpressed. “He could just be out on the town or at a meeting, Clio.”

“Maybe,” the hare said. “Maybe not. But in any case, I have something for you.”

“If it’s that thing in the box, I don’t want it.”

Clio looked put out. Thalia counted that as a victory in and of itself. “You say that now, but you won't be saying that when a Sundrop Child stares you down again, his hair the color of golden wrath and with eyes the color of fury,” he whined.

Thalia rounded on Clio. “How do you know about that?”

Clio shrugged, still moping. “It's old news to me, really.”

“Were you spying on the meeting Terpsichore and I had with Erato?”

The hare nodded. “It was such a disappointing waste of my time. You didn’t tell me anything I already knew.” He pouted, unearthed a rolling chair from his detritus of his lab, and straddled the back of it. “I thought you might have learned something interesting, like whether or not all Saiyans have tails and they just cut them off to fit in with you humans, but you didn’t.”

Loath as she was to admit it, the wily hare had Thalia’s interest, now. “Saiyan?”

“Oh, yes,” Clio said. “Saiyan. Vegeta is one. Son Goku was one. Their boys are part Saiyan, too. But you don’t care about what I have to tell you, no. I’ll let you go on with your day instead of talking your ear off.”

“Clio!” She shook her head. “What’s a Saiyan?”

“Oh, you know. Just something.” He wilted from within his chair and pressed his long face into the headrest.

“Tell me!”

Clio gave her that same aggravatingly sad look. “Oh, you really want to know? You don’t just think I’m crazy?”

“I-!” Thalia sighed and cradled her head in her hand. Dealing with Clio was always such a trial. “Yes. Yes, I want to know.”

His eyes brightened with amusement. “You want to know, and?”

“And?”

“And you don’t just think I’m…?” He prompted her with a circular motion of his paw and mouthed out the word “crazy” as a cue.

Thalia glared at him and caved. “I want to know, and I don’t just think you are crazy. Happy?”

Clio considered her for a minute, and then waved her off. “Nah. Never mind. I don’t want to tell you.”

She stomped over to where he was sitting. “You stupid--!”

Clio popped out of his chair and started to hunt around in his lab’s mess once more. “You hesitated too long. The moment passed and I changed my mind.” He produced the metal box he had tossed away earlier from the wreckage, and brought it back over to Thalia. “But I’m still feeling generous, so I’ll let you in on something else interesting, even so.” He winked at her with the eye magnified behind his glass eyepiece. “That is, if you do me a solid.”

Thalia glared at the box.

Clio frowned at her lack of enthusiasm, and opened the box himself. “I’ve been working on this for quite some time,” he said, his voice uncharacteristically steady and his demeanor suddenly calm. “This one is actually a failed project that I made while on the path to what I was really after, but I think it still serves a purpose, as all things do.” He held the open box out to Thalia so that she could look inside. “It’s roughly based on the basic plan Doctor Gero used for what became Melpomene’s regulatory brain, but it is much more sophisticated and much less intrusive.”

Inside the box were five perfectly round bands of silver, with one significantly larger than the others.

“So, these things regulate a person’s bodily functions?” Thalia asked.

“Why,” Clio considered her question like a newborn baby experiencing peek-a-boo for the first time, “yes! They do. Rather, they can, but that’s not the point. They can completely suppress free will, or only do so partially or gradually, if so desired, like Melpomene’s device does.” One of his paws slipped into the pocket of his stained lab coat and reemerged with what looked for all the world like a necklace with a silver pendant. “This is the control.” He placed it in the box and held all the pieces out to Thalia again. “I would like for you to hold onto these for a little while.”

Thalia considered the offering, and then shook her head. “I’m not going to go put this on Son Gohan, if that’s what you’re asking,” she said.

Clio actually looked baffled. “Use it on Son Goku’s child?” What! No, it’s not for him. Why would you even think that?” He laughed hysterically, and then snorted. “Did I imply anything like that?”

“Yeah, you did, actually.”

Clio waved her off. “Oh, surely I didn’t! What an imagination you have!” He laughed louder. “Oh, Thalia, you’re so funny!” He carried on like so for a while.

Thalia waited, none too patiently, for him to stop.

“Although,” the hare said as he finally calmed himself, grinning back at Thalia, “I suppose that the identity of the person who wears the moderator is completely up to you, so my intentions hardly matter so long as I leave it in your possession.” He cackled. “Either way, take it. I’m sick of looking at it.”

Thalia kept her hands firmly by her sides. “Clio, as flattered as I am that you think I’m so pretty that you want to give me jewelry, be straight with me. What weird favor do you want done with these?”

“Favor? Now? Hmm.” Clio’s ears rotated on his head. “I don’t have one right now. Another day, I will. But it won’t be something you will necessarily have to do, oh no. Just keep this safe and where you can get to it. You can even use it if you like, I don't care.” His expression soured when Thalia declined to reply, and then suddenly brightened again. “Oh! I know! An incentive!” Clio clicked his tongue. “How about… if you do this for me, I’ll see what I can do for Melpomene. I’ll work extra hard to ensure he makes a full recovery. Otherwise… hm.” He smiled again, and the ambient light from his monitors made it look threatening.

Furious, Thalia bit her tongue to hold back her insults. Clio was temperamental and just as prone to sabotage Melpomene’s mind as he was to aid it, depending on his mood. This was the closest thing to a promise she could wrangle out of the hare, and they both knew it.

Tentatively, she reached for the box, but she stayed her hand a hair’s breadth away from it. “Why do you want me to hold these?” Thalia pressed her luck.

Clio giggled. “Because I don’t want Erato to think I have them!” he said. “I like secrets. I like them a lot. I want to keep some of them secrets from some people,” he cocked his head, and his magnified right eye made him look even more lopsided, “and keep other secrets from other people. That’s why.”

“Are you scared Erato will try to use them, or something?”

Clio shrugged. “Oh, I never really thought about that, no.” He dug out some more vegetables from an assortment of boxes on the floor and stuffed them all into his mouth. “Just hold the moderators for me until the day comes that I want them back.”

\---

Trunks watched his father’s strained breaths move his chest up and down with the aid of a breathing mask.

He thought about what Gohan had said-really, he had- but the thought of watching him stay like this was too much.

Trunks pulled the Senzu bean out of his belt, removed his father’s mask, and stuffed the bean into his back teeth for him to chew and swallow.


	27. Frieza

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vegeta's is a legacy of ice, and of an eternal grudge.

Quietly, so quietly, the dark air slipped around Vegeta’s body and blew on the back of his neck, soft at first, and then insistent. Vegeta groaned. His body felt like cracking lead- he was a puzzle threatening to come apart piece by piece if anyone so much as dared nudge him.

The air turned icy and cruel the moment his mind silently acknowledged his weakness, and it sent tiny pinpricks of pain into his skin as if it were pulling the tiny hairs out of the back of his neck one by one, like it was threatening to snap him apart from the outside in and lay the shards out before him to see as he deteriorated piece by piece.

A voice, soft and sinister and so, so familiar, hissed into his ear. “My, my.”

Vegeta’s eyes shot open.

“But look at you now,” his demon said. “I thought you were better than this, but it seems that even you can grow soft. So pitiful.” 

It was behind Vegeta now, just out of his sight. He could feel its energy seeping over into the corner of his vision like frost curling its tendrils over the corners of a windowpane. 

“Was it just not worth it anymore without someone out there for you to try and kill, someone always one step ahead of you?” The ice demon laughed. “You’ve let yourself go since I’ve been locked away here, Vegeta. I would say I was disappointed, but honestly I’m not surprised. You never were much to speak of without me there to hold your hand.”

Vegeta let his energy rise up within him along with bile and an anger that made his mouth tang with the flavor of his childhood. He clamped his teeth down so hard that he felt something crack under the pressure, and it rolled around in pieces between his jaws. Vegeta held it there and explored the shards of it and his hateful, unspoken words with his tongue. 

“But then again, that other monkey from Earth is stronger than you. He’s stronger, even in death, and you’re not inclined to do anything about it? Even with his wretched little bastard right in front of you, taunting you, acting so superior? Flaunting his weakness in the face of your foolish, bestial Saiyan pride?” The demon circled around Vegeta. It moved like mist over water, like ice married to air. “My, but that does make your appearance here in hell almost a disappointment! How boring you’ve become. How tame.”

Vegeta ignored the cries of exhaustion leaking from his body in silent, pained screams. He crossed his arms and projected confidence to protect himself; it was the same armor he wore as a child, only without the crest of his father painted over his heart. 

“Oh? Still nothing to say?” The demon asked. A long, white tail brushed across Vegeta’s shoulder and pressed on his jaw.

He swatted it away.

“Ah, and I had been looking forward to hearing your smug prattle so I could shove it back down your throat,” the demon’s voice surrounded him like the smoke from dry ice fogging up over hissing waters. 

Ghostly fingers brushed at Vegeta’s hair, and this time, he let them pass through it as if they really were only part of an apparition. 

“Nothing? Nothing at all? Is that really all you have to say to me, after all this time?” The demon asked, pinching Vegeta’s cheeks between a cold forefinger and thumb. “How rude. I’m hurt.”

Vegeta stared straight ahead, into the darkness, and reminded himself that he was stronger now. He should not sully his hands on such an unworthy, vile creature. 

“Oh, I know that look. Are you thinking of trying to kill me again, Prince Vegeta?”

Still, Vegeta said nothing. If he rose to the bait, just as he always did as a boy, and then as a younger man too full of himself to know how badly he was being played, destroying this thing would not matter. Vegeta would be giving his demon exactly what it wanted.

“Please, do try. I would love to see how your little tirade would play out without Son Goku around to listen to your pitiful little sob story.” The demon paused. “That was his name, wasn’t it? Goku? Or was it, ah, what filthy little pet name did you call him by? Kakarot?” It slipped off its silver tongue so easily, but sounded so wrong, as if the moment the word resounded out loud into the darkness, it became a sin. “Yes, Kakarot.”

Vegeta lowered his energy and held it there, like a slow, steady drum beating out a warning in the distance.

“Oh, Vegeta, you don’t have to be so coy. I know what burns in your stomach. I know what drives you to get up in the morning. It’s not that girl, or your brat, or even the food they put on the table for you. No, not at all. If it were, you wouldn’t have such a sour countenance.” The demon laughed. “Nobody knows that look on your face more intimately than I do.” It appeared in Vegeta’s face suddenly, pale white skin glistening in the blackness and deep, dark violet swirling in a tempest on the crown of its head. “After all, I’m the one who put it there.”

Vegeta ignored the crimson leer aimed at him.

The demon’s whisper was like winter, merciless and decidedly crisp. “Look at you, Vegeta. You don’t even have it in you to attack me. Are you afraid? Is the Prince of All Saiyans afraid?

Vegeta made the mistake of looking down then, and those red eyes held him like a snake entrances a mouse.

“It took Son Goku, a dead planet, and the hope of the future to kill me, and you never defeated even the first of those things. You never got the chance. So how could you defeat me, then, when you never measured up? Not to him, not to me, not even to a filthy, damned slimeball full of slugs.”

“Don’t delude yourself,” Vegeta answered, his arrogance outweighing his wisdom, “I’ve outclassed you several times over since that day, you miserable little worm.”

“Oh! Is that so?” The demon tossed its head, tail dancing in the air behind him, “Well, excuse me, little Prince. You ugly, hairy things grow new coats so frequently, it’s hard to tell when a new one is special and when it it’s nothing more than a fresh, reeking layer of body hair.” It cackled under its breath. “But what does it matter? What does it matter if one ape can copy what another one did first?” The demon chilled Vegeta down to his core with cruel laughter and circled him. “There’s no real mystery behind it- you’ve been riding coat tails your whole life! Ah, yes, ‘But I am the Prince! I am the Prince! I was born a leader, I was born for glory, for power!’ Fool. Ignorant, petulant child. You can’t do anything by yourself, Vegeta! You can’t even bring yourself to try without seeing someone else do it first! You think you were the first to try and kill me? You think you were my first pet to try and bite the hand that fed it?” the demon laughed louder. “Monkey see, monkey do! That’s why you’ll always be the lesser, always, from now until the end of time!”

Vegeta sent a fist after the demon, but it floated to the side of it and hung in the air there like smoke.

“Your power, your glory, pride. Even your title, I’d say. That’s what we took from you. What he took from you- he lived longer than I, and died more nobly for it, and defined by your ideals. They are all Son Goku’s now. You practically gave it all to him.”

Vegeta caught the demon with a strike to its iridescent teeth- those bright, shining teeth hanging down from its blackened lips like icicles sharpened to a point by the wind, the same ones that would peek out at him as a boy and smile a smile laced with condescension in the form of praise- ‘Oh, excellent work, my Prince. I can see why you’re the pride of your people.’ 

The stalactites shattered, but the demon only grinned wider and showed off the gaping hole in his face as if to swallow Vegeta within it. “They’re his little brat’s, too!” It said. “Vegeta, Prince of Saiyans, outshined by the king of apes, Son Goku, the disgusting, mongrel bumpkin! The Monkey King! And his half breed bastard!” It staved off Vegeta’s next blow and slammed both palms at the sides of his head. 

Vegeta’s ears rang from the force of shattered equilibrium, and he swallowed the shards sitting in his mouth from the pain. The world swirled around him and his head felt heavy, as if he were wandering between sleep and wakefulness, all bathed in an ugly, vengeful, nightmarish rage. So he lashed out at his demon while it was in his sights, fists flying, loathing pouring from his mouth in strangled screams, and he felt himself growing stronger and stronger with each strike, but at the cost of feeling emptier and more jagged inside as the demon’s laughter only echoed within his heart.

“They’ve taken it all, and left you practically naked, like a monkey who’s been strategically shaved to look like an even uglier bastard than you already were!”

Vegeta sent the demon to his knees and assaulted his head until the glassy, violet place on its head split and purple liquid spritzed from the wound.

“You, and that little Son Gohan- both shriveled, mutilated, worthless bastards!”

Vegeta used both hands to smash in the demon’s head. It made a wet noise and a permanent indentation to mark the violence, but held together.

“You learned your cruelty from me. You took your drive from me. Your ambition took inspiration from mine,” the demon said. “Play pretend and say you’ve torn me down, proclaim yourself conqueror, sit on the little throne you made for yourself in your head, it doesn’t matter- you are mine, Vegeta, and you always will be. You are what I made you.”

Vegeta’s boot sent the demon’s face into the bottom of the blackness they lurked in, and he stomped and ground his heel into its cheek until alabaster flesh was stained the color of the poison pumping through its veins.

“Always the Prince!” it cried out through the holes in its head, laughing as its face was smeared into paste, over and over again. “But never, never the King!”

Vegeta was suddenly seized by some force he knew but could not name, and pain bloomed in his stomach and around his neck as the demon, the darkness, and his dream all dissolved into whiteness.

\---------

Bulma’s son cowered into his mother’s side as Gohan pulled Vegeta away from Yamcha and slammed him into the wall, and then deep into the cement floor when it broke.

Vegeta’s face was taught and unreadable, caught somewhere between a grimace of pain and one of relief as he looked around the room, dazed, until he found the face of Son Gohan and grabbed at the hand the boy had wrapped around his throat. Behind him, Yamcha lay on the ground, his face a bloody mess and his arm positioned impossibly.

Vegeta’s eyes flicked over Gohan’s face slowly, the light his body cast reflecting off of his eyes like off a cat’s and staining them green beneath his golden hair. Gohan’s back looked much the same, but tenser, more haggard, and everything about him was elongated and hardened in a way Bulma had never seen before. It looked like someone has whittled away all the gentle, boyish softness she was so familiar with and left a skeleton of golden anger in its place.

“What are you doing?” Vegeta finally demanded. “Release me!”

Bulma could not read Gohan’s expression, nor could she understand the language of his energy like her son surely could by the way he was hugging her legs, but his stance did not change. It made her feel like a helpless little girl running away from a monster born in the light of the full moon.

Vegeta writhed in protest beneath his captor’s grip, his white-knuckled hands wrapped around the boy’s wrists, and Gohan pushed him back down. A ball of ki appeared in the boy’s other hand and he slid it close to Vegeta’s face.

“So you’re trying to kill me now, after all these years, hm?” Vegeta asked. “In my sleep, no less. And here I was starting to believe that Earth had actually weathered away all of your brutality and all that crap you spout about peace. But instead, it turns out that you have no honor, no warrior’s pride. An assassination, really. How cowardly you are.” He grinned like a predator. Bulma had not seen that expression on his face for a long time. 

The ball of ki in Gohan’s hand disappeared. “I’m not here to fight you or do anything like that.”

“What is this? Stage fright?” Vegeta chuckled, darkly and unfamiliarly, even to Bulma. “Oh, no. Don’t mind me. See if you can do it. I’d like to know how strong the son of Kakarot really is.” His eyes glinted cruelly in the light, and something about the glow of his hair washed out the color of his gums and elongated the sharp white of his teeth. “I’d love to rip you apart and finally prove that you and your filthy, lowborn bastard kind are weaker than me.”

“I said that I’m not here to fight you.”

Vegeta grinned wider. “Yes, yes, Gohan, I know. You’ve never wanted to fight, or to fight me. You want to kill me.” Then, he laughed. “That’s the way it’s always been. That’s the way you are.”

“Vegeta, I want nothing like that.”

“Oh? I thought that was what your Namek teacher had trained you to do, all those years ago.”

Bulma watched the hairs on the back of Gohan’s crown brush back and forth as he shook his head. “That was so long ago, and an entirely different circumstance. You don’t know anything about that.”

“Oh, I don’t, do I?” Vegeta snickered. “you were there to kill Nappa, and kill me. That was always your purpose- to deliver death. And it has always been your deepest desire.”

“That’s nonsense.”

“You may not love the fight, but you love the high from the power your rage gives you, and you crave the thrill of the kill. I know it. I’ve seen it plain on your face.”

“You don’t know anything. You only see what you want to see,” Gohan said.

Vegeta used his legs to push Gohan’s body away from his own and then burned the boy’s wrist with ki until he released Vegeta’s throat.

Bulma held Trunks tightly against herself as the atmosphere of the room whipped around and pulled at their clothes, their hair, their footing. Yamcha dragged himself over to them, coughing from the cloud smog filling the room.

Vegeta rose like a nightmare made of gold from the smoke and stood in front of where Gohan crouched, holding his wrist. “Enough talk. I have waited long enough. Fight me, and see if you can take what you want.” The harsh glow of energy filled his palm and the violet light of it spilled over onto Gohan’s face. “Fight me to the death.”

“Father!” Trunks cried.

The cold warrior snapped to attention then, and cast his eyes over to Trunks. Bulma felt them wander over her incredulously next, and then finally they landed on where Yamcha lay as he spat blood and shards of his teeth from his mouth.

“Vegeta, stop!” Bulma cried. “You were dreaming!”

He looked at Bulma again, and then at Gohan, and then at the ruined room like he had only just discovered he was standing in it. His hair lost its golden hue and dampened to black, and the violence of his energy faded as he stayed his hand.

Gohan watched him for a moment, and then covered his aggression over with the color of mourning black, too.

“Gohan,” Yamcha choked out after an eternity. “Your mom probably wants you home. Don’t make her worry.”

The boy gauged Yamcha and his words, and then he stood. He bowed to Bulma, and Yamcha, and Trunks, and then, after turning back and piercing Vegeta with a stare that even Bulma could feel from where she stood outside of his line of sight, lifted into the air and took his leave.

Then, the smoke alarm went off.

\---

Thalia stood stock still as that familiar, horrific energy pierced through her surroundings and gripped at her heart.

It came from the Capsule Corporation- that much was unmistakeable- in the form of rage from the man she had thought mangled, that Vegeta- and from Son Gohan, son of Goku, the Sundrop Child who saved the world.

Thalia gripped Clio’s the box filled with gifted burden tightly in her hands.

Surely, everyone in the Circle felt them when both reached their peak. She would be a fool to think otherwise. Hell, Terpsichore might have even felt it on the other side of the globe.

But surely nobody else could trace the heartbeat of energy pulsing across the sky after the fallout between the two titans. Nobody else besides she and Terpsichore had seen Gohan so close, nor had anyone else put a face to the distinct way he pushed and pulled at himself with his energy. Nobody else in the Circle knew, unequivocally, the magnitude of power that was Son Gohan.

Thalia slipped on a mask, faded outside of the Circle’s boundaries, and followed Gohan like he were a star leading her across the night sky.


	28. Lightning and Thunder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fallout from Gohan and Vegeta's fight is felt far and wide.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you as always for reading and for leaving comments!!!

Terpsichore’s chambers in the High Northeastern Circle were spartan at best- the grey room featured a rectangular bed that was barely long enough for him, a table, a free standing rack of clothes, and a single monitor affixed to the wall. The only obvious signs of color were a series of framed pictures- an even split of crayon drawings and then more sophisticated watercolors- that Calliope had presented to him over the years, and the yellow and pink blanket Calliope herself huddled beneath from where she sat on his bed.

Her teacher stood in the middle of the room, his posture immaculate and his jaw clenched so tightly that Calliope feared his teeth might shatter. His hands passed a ball of crimson energy back and forth between themselves, as if it were the weight of a pendulum hanging from an invisible string.

“Calliope,” Terpsichore said, his eyes fixed on the softly glowing screen.

Calliope stood and reached out for her teacher. He made no move to push away or accept the arm she wrapped around his waist.

The monitor in front of them was new- installed as per Erato’s order. On it, the dark-haired giant fidgeted in his resting place deep within the earth. His wide and normally serene features were molded into an expression of discomfort and annoyance as he thrashed around.

Not that Calliope needed to see his face to know his emotions- the pulses of energy running through his strange barrier and seeping through the rock of the mountain spoke volumes for him as it vacillated between obscuring the man in a sinister yellow-green glow and suddenly sparkling clear like a dome made of glass. This episode had started the moment that two titans- one with a destructive hunger like a blazing fire and the other with a beating heart filled to the brim with a suffocating grief- clashed somewhere far, far away.

“Calliope,” Terpsichore repeated himself after a long moment. “I think you should go stay with the Western Circle. Or, maybe even the Southern- your choice.” He closed his hands into fists to smother his glowing orb of energy. “Perhaps you could study with Urania and Euterpe, or visit Melpomene and stay with Thalia, if you would rather.” Soon, Terpsichore’s rapidly whitening knuckles matched the color of his face. “You would like that, wouldn’t you?”

Calliope reached out and pried the fingers of his right hand apart. “I told you. I will not leave you,” she signed into his palm.

“It would only be for a short time,” Terpsichore said. “And I would follow soon after. It would be nothing so permanent as what you are thinking.”

“You would do whatever Leader Erato asked you to do,” Calliope pressed the shape of her hands into her teacher’s.

“I would do whatever I thought best,” Terpsichore said.

“Best for you?” asked Calliope, “Or the Circle?”

“Both,” Terpsichore answered.

“If you are frightened, you should leave Leader Erato to his ambitions.” Calliope buried her face into his side. “You should come with me!”

Terpsichore settled a hand onto her back. “And then, if I did, who would keep an eye on this situation?” He shook his head.

“You cannot control everything. If you could not stand up against Son Gohan or that Vegeta,” she spelled out both of their names letter by letter, but laid out Vegeta’s name with no small amount of aggression, “and it turns out that this man is like them, how will you be able to do anything against him?”

Verdant hair fell over Terpsichore’s eyes as he searched the cement at his feet. “It is my prerogative to ensure that this man never wakes up at all,” he said. “That is how I can be of assistance.”

“That is a task that could take your whole life to see accomplished!” Calliope pressed. “Do you intend to break the barrier yourself and kill him in his sleep?!”

The figure on the monitor thrashed over onto his side as if in defiance. Terpsichore jumped at it, and Calliope felt her teacher put up a reflexive barrier around both of them. The hairs on his wrists were standing straight up, and she was sure the hair on his neck was doing much the same. Calliope herself would be lying if she said that she could not feel hers standing on end as well.

“I do not think you have any say in the matter,” Calliope told her teacher. “So leave with me.”

“I will not leave the kindred of this Circle to handle this alone.”

The man on the monitor rolled from side to side with a handful of fitful turns, and then curled up into a ball. A crackle of static stalled the feed for a moment, like a hiccup in time.

“This Circle is not like your old troupe,” Calliope tried.

The silent glow of Terpsichore’s gilded cage of energy gently faded into thin air. His irises glinted and mimicked the fleeing color. “They are exactly like my old troupe.” He wrapped his hands around Calliope’s. “They are my students, as are you. I will not leave them should they refuse to leave this place.”

Calliope let out a puff of air and stomped her foot. “That is stupid!” She let her energy ring out in place of words, and pulled her hands away to sign at Terpsichore. “None of us will leave unless you leave!”

“Calliope-”

“Should that giant in the Earth awaken and choose to destroy this place, it will make no difference where you are- the result will be the same as it was on May the Ninth, with King Piccolo, and everyone will die regardless of how nobly you acted!”

“It isn’t a question of nobility, but responsibility,” Terpsichore said. “I was a scared child then. I am an adult now. Say I did leave. Who would Leader Erato put in my place? Someone surely as reckless as he is.”

Calliope shook her head and stomped her feet again. “You are as reckless as Leader Erato, or, at least, you normally are! But now, you are afraid! You are afraid to leave and stumble across Son Gohan, and you think this is the safer option! But it isn’t!”

“Calliope, that is not-”

“I know!” She cut him off with a flurry of her hands. “There is no safe option! There never is for someone like you. I know! And we could feel Son Gohan and Vegeta fighting, and even from here, and we know… we know how...” Calliope clenched her fists, and then opened them again. “But you know exactly what you risk if you come across Son Gohan again,- and you don’t know anything about the tall, thin giant!” Calliope pointed to the screen, her back hunched over and extended arm trembling. “He could be worse!” Her shoulders shook. “The Circle is important to you. I know. We’re too peculiar to put the people at large at ease, but not strong enough to face off against gods.” She sniffed and wiped at her wet eyes. “A rock and a hard place. I get it. But, if Son Gohan knew something about this strange man in the earth, then maybe...”

The soles of Terpsichore’s black boots rang out on the cement as he strode over to Calliope knelt, and pulled her into a hug. “My precocious child,” Terpsichore said. “You’re right. But so naive.” He leaned his cheek against her temple. “As I am. I burned that bridge in my own arrogance. No amount of my groveling can rebuild it.”

Calliope pressed the words “You’re only too afraid to say you’re sorry!” into his back even though she knew he could not understand them, and cried.

\---

The moon fought through the swath of grey clouds swirling around it and spread flecks of light on the rough water like white ash on jagged, black obsidian. Eighteen stood, her feet planted firmly in the sand of Roshi’s private island, and surveyed the weather with an unimpressed eye. Then, she turned without a word and journeyed back across the compacted sand and sparse patches of trembling grass until she reached the porch, where Roshi sat on the whitewashed planks stained blue and black by the atmosphere.

“I don’t see what you’re so worried about. It might rain and get ugly, but I don’t sense the makings of a major storm,” Eighteen said, sliding off her flip flops. They were purple and orange, Marron’s current favorite combination.

“Mm.” Roshi’s snowy beard pressed flush against him as if it were a sheet on a laundry line, and he brushed it back out with long strokes of his gnarled hand.

Eighteen continued on, prompted by the cold wind blowing through her hair and the fronds of the palm trees alike. “It wasn’t supposed to storm today.”

Roshi rose to his feet and held the door open. “Mmhmm. Weather’s not something you can predict reliably until you’re right smack dab in the middle of it.”

At that, Eighteen rolled her eyes and walked into the house, Roshi close behind her. The yellow-orange electric glow pouring from the overhead lights was a direct contrast to the unsettled darkness hanging in the sky outside, and welcomed her as she strode into the living room. She looked down at the couch to find her husband sprawled on his back atop the cushions, his knees bent up in front of the arm rest.

“Verdict?” Krillin asked. The swelling in his face had reduced to a series of ugly splits and splotches, much like that on his arms and legs had. More black-purple blooms spread out over the bare skin of his chest and abdomen free from the brace and bandages wrapped around it. 

“Scoot over,” Eighteen prompted.

Krillin grinned, used one elbow to gently push himself up, and then gingerly dropped his head back down into her lap.

“Way to scoot,” Eighteen said.

“I’m an expert at scooting,” Krillin said, sticking out his tongue. “Been practicing.”

Eighteen laughed- a single puff of amused air laced with warmth. “You’re supposed to be resting in bed.” She ran her fingers over the close-cropped fuzz on his head. “You’ll tear yourself up even worse if you aren’t careful.”

“But you’ll still take care of me, right?” her husband grinned.

“Hmm. Let me think about it. It might take some persuasion.”

Krillin grinned wider as his wife moved her face closer to his. “Ooh. What kinda persuasion are we talkin’? I can be very persuasive.”

Roshi cleared his throat. “This is my house, you know. Stop making me feel like I’m not supposed to be here.”

Eighteen made a show of kissing her husband. “You were saying?”

Krillin’s round face practically split open as his master snorted. 

“There are children here, for shame!” the old man muttered.

“Like that’s ever stopped you,” Eighteen countered.

“So, anyway, how’s it lookin’, do you think?” Krillin asked. “Do we need to leave the island?”

Roshi pushed his glasses- the lenses the color of licorice, even at night- up onto his head and rubbed at his face. His wrinkled eyes crinkled into slits. 

Eighteen shrugged. “No, I don’t think so. Maybe we’ll get some heat lightning and a few unpleasant waves, but nothing too big.”

“Oh,” Krillin said, “That’s not what I was asking about, but, uh, that’s, uh, that’s good too. I’d hate to wake Marron up.”

Eighteen quirked an eyebrow. “Hm?”

“Eighteen, you can’t sense energy,” Roshi said. “Just now, there was- hrrrm. You said Marron was in bed?” Roshi replaced the sunglasses on his face with a click as the plastic frames rattled against his temple. 

“Snug as a bug in a rug,” Krillin said. “Right?”

His wife leaned over to peer up the stairwell and check that all the lights were indeed still off and no toddlers were sleepwalking. A nod told Krillin that the coast was clear.

“It’s Vegeta.” 

“Vegeta?”

“He got into it with someone,” Krillin explained.

“Oh, really?” Eighteen’s blue eyes wandered back over to the man in her lap. “Vegeta got into a fight?” She smirked. “That’s a shocker.”

“He got into a fight with Gohan, specifically,” Roshi added.

“Gohan?”

“To the degree that the both of them ascended, yes.”

The darkness outside fled as a flash of muted light filled the sky and rivaled the artificial light emanating from the living room of the tiny pink Kame House. Krillin’s head angled halfheartedly to watch it as it momentarily erased the moon and stars, and then studied the plush threads of his wife’s cotton shorts. Roshi tugged at his beard.

Eighteen crossed her ankles and tapped her husband on the forehead. “Well. Glad we brought you home from the hospital yesterday so we weren’t stuck in the middle of that today.” The soft hum of the refrigerator and household lights answered her. “What? Nobody’s dead, are they?”

“No,” Krillin admitted. I don’t think so.”

“Then it’s probably no big deal. They were probably sparring. Or,” Eighteen cocked her head, her light hair springing against the action before finally settling into a neat curtain. “Wait. Wasn’t Vegeta beaten all to hell?”

Krillin’s scruff brushed against the skin of his wife’s thigh as he nodded. “See, the whole thing is strange. Vegeta shouldn’t’ve had the strength to move, let alone want to beat something up- let alone want to beat Gohan up.”

The sky outside lit up for an instant, its voice booming like that of a mute god.

“I think you’re worried for nothing,” Eighteen said.

Then, the phone rang.

\---

The kitchen in the back of the Lucky Egg radiated heat and the scent of the orders from the ebbing dinner rush in equal measure, and the sink was piled high with dishes and pans- a spectacular amount of them, in fact, considering that there were only two chefs producing them.

“She still isn’t back yet,” Hass said.

Behind him, Earl swished his tail and flicked an ear from underneath the hairnet holding back his thick mane. “She’s a teenager and it’s barely past eight o'clock.”

“But it’s different today. I just know it. She’s been acting funny all week.”

“Yeah, considering a man died in front of you, I’d think so. You both are. You both should be.” Earl snagged the ladle out of Hass’s meaty hands. “In fact, you shouldn’t even be working right now.” He took a sip of the soup his boss had been so fervently stirring and muttering into, and snorted. “You’re gonna ruin this minestrone- the vegetables are practically mush! And did you even add the onions I chopped?”

“...Oh...”

Earl sighed. His huge jaw and sharp teeth almost made the gesture menacing. “If you won’t go rest upstairs, go run this food for me and then start bussing tables and hosting the late night stragglers. Stay outta the kitchen. You’re muckin’ it up back here.”

Hass nodded. “I, I. Uh, yeah, maybe. It’ll be nice to talk to people.”

“Yeah.” The lion gave Hass a pat on the back as the man ambled out of the kitchen in a daze. “Sevoya’s gonna be fine.”

\---

Trunks could feel his father’s fiery energy roiling from within the gravity room, turning itself over and over like acid and poison combating one another in his stomach, waiting to make him sick.

“He didn’t mean to,” Yamcha had said to Trunks, blood pouring from his mouth. “And don’t worry- most of the teeth I lost were fake to begin with, so it’s not like he’s ruined me forever.” Yamcha had tried for a grin then, and Pu’ar had wisely chosen to cover Trunks’s face in a stifling hug at that exact moment and wail loudly.

Now, though, Trunks was sitting in his bed, teeth brushed and face washed, and clad in his favorite racecar pajamas while his mother pulled the covers up to his chin. The whole situation was surreal, and Trunks blamed the pajamas in particular.

“Mom?” he asked.

“Shh,” Bulma said. “I know you’re confused and upset right now, but I promise we’ll work all this out in the morning. Your father made a mistake, that’s all. He thought Yamcha was someone else.” She paused. “Someone very bad, who died before you were born.”

“Y-yeah,” Trunks said to his mother, holding out a small hand to stop her from leaving, “He was asleep and yelling about, um, I dunno, but whatever the word was sounded a lot like he was really mad at the freezer, but,” he took his mother’s hand, “why did he say what he did to Gohan?”

Bulma paused in rubbing small circles on the back of her son’s hand. Her face was fresh and open, free from all of her makeup, and the small wrinkles at the corners of her mouth and eyes highlighted themselves in the moonlight pouring in from the open window to whisper her real age. “I,” she said, “well, um, a long time ago, Gohan and Vegeta both, um.” She bit her lip. “Your dad and Gohan, they both fought monsters, and-”

A pair of glowing eyes appeared in the shadows in the corner of Trunks’s room. “Do not sugarcoat this, Bulma,” boomed a voice. “It’s too late for that.”

Trunks’s mother screamed and fell face-first into her son, and her eyes bugged out to the size of saucers. “G-get it, Trunks! Blast it!”

Piccolo’s hulking form stepped out of the shadows and he flipped on the lights. “Stop screaming- it is only me.”

Bulma released her chokehold on her son, and sank into his soft mattress. “Oh, “it’s only me,” he says,” Bulma mocked. “Just an eight foot tall alien ex-demon sneaking into your child’s bedroom, that’s all.” She buried her face into her hands. “I’m. I might be getting too old for this,” she muttered to herself. Then, she snatched up Trunks’s bedside lamp and threw it at Piccolo. “Where do you think you get off, scaring me like that?!”

Piccolo balked. The whites of his eyes popped against his dark green skin as he caught the lamp and cradled it in his arms like a child. “The window was open, and I took that as an invitation!” he shot back.

“What?! How is that anything like an invitation?” Trunks’s mother squawked. “Who taught you manners? Goku?!”

Piccolo’s leathery skin set into furrows and a deeper frown. “At this time of night, and considering the destructive aftermath of the situation- not to mention the fact that I am, in fact, strikingly green and not human- I did not think that your extensive company security would simply let me walk in the front door.”

“Didja maybe get the hint that now isn’t the best time to come by for a visit?!” Bulma asked, spreading her arms out wide. “Why weren’t you here earlier, when we actually needed you?”

At that, Piccolo snorted. “I came as soon as I realized that I was needed.” He strode closer to the bed. “Not all of us can appear and disappear to and from anywhere in the world at will.” He sent Bulma a pointed look.

“Mom?” Trunks interrupted. “You know mister Piccolo? Um, I mean, you two know each other?”

Bulma looked over at her son. “Oh! Yeah. I forgot to mention. I thought I told you.” She looked back at Piccolo. “We go way back. Anyway, Vegeta’s off sulking somewhere-”

“The Gravity Room,” Trunks supplied.

“Yeah. And Pu’ar and Yamcha are,” Bulma shook her head. “You already know all that, though, don’t you? I’m just running my mouth.” She inhaled sharply, and then exhaled with just as much gusto. “Okay. What’re you here for?”

“I’ve come for your son.”

Trunks swallowed and looked down at his hands.

Meanwhile, his mother leapt to her feet. “What?! What, are you planning to go train him in the wilderness, too? I thought you were done with kidnapping children!”

Trunks looked back up. “Huh?”

The white fabric of Piccolo’s cape flared out and expanded his figure like a scared pufferfish. “No! No! I’m not taking him anywhere! I’m only here to speak with him.” His long ears pinned next. “And to keep an eye on, well.” He crossed his arms. “Dende informed me that my presence would be more useful here than on the Lookout.”

Bulma laughed and stumbled to her feet, smoothing out her nightshirt as she did so. “Okay, okay. So now it’s my turn to have you grace us with your sour face and nannying presence,” she said.

“M-my what?!” Piccolo cried. Trunks swore that he saw the huge warrior change color in his face- deep green to a bloody purple, like a fruit ripening instantaneously- but it was gone the moment the boy blinked. “Harrumph!”

“Dende kicked you out to babysit,” Bulma clarified. “You’ve watched literally everyone else at some point. It had to be my turn eventually.”

This time, Piccolo really did adopt a more permanent blush. “I can leave, if my presence is such an imposition,” he snarled.

Bulma waved a hand at him. “No, no, stay. We’ve got room.” She sauntered backwards. “You want coffee, tea, or just some hot water?”

Piccolo sent her a glare that could curdle milk. “...tea,” he spat, and then faced the window with a dramatic swoosh of his snow white cape.

\---

“W-well,” Hass said to the customer, his wavering voice completely undermining his large and intimidating girth and stature, “Our soup of the day is a minestrone, and-” he swallowed. The lights in the restaurant hit his eyes too brightly, and he blinked tightly as the shine cut through his mental fog. “A-and that’s a vegetable soup, so.” He furrowed his brow. “Earl is a lion.”

The customer frowned. “What?”

“The only thing Earl can’t handle is vegetable soup,” Hass mused. “He can even make a good ratatouille when pressed, but unless I add meat to it, minestrone has never, uh,” he swallowed again, the thickness of his drying tongue catching on the planes of his teeth and the ridges of his mouth, blurted out “I- I’ll be right back,” and stumbled back into the kitchen.

\---

“Are you mad?” Trunks asked. “Mad about the Senzu bean?”

Piccolo closed the window. “No,” he said. “I let you take it, knowing exactly what you would do with it.” His dark, ringed eyes trained on Trunks as he turned around. “Although, I think now you know why I disapproved of your trying to keep it a secret from everyone else. Had Gohan not been there, Yamcha would probably be dead.”

Trunks nodded, and bunched his fists into his sheets. They had cars scrambling all over it, too, and boats and planes and trucks. Where they were going, Trunks could not guess, but he wondered how many people wandered aimlessly and in circles, their paths intersecting without their knowing, and never found whatever it is they were looking for.

“Why did my father want to fight Gohan so much?” Trunks asked.

Piccolo loomed by Trunks’s bedside like a mountain, or a monster that had crawled out from beneath his bed. “Because he thinks it will keep him from fighting himself.”

“Why would he fight himself?”

Piccolo shrugged. “Why does a parakeet mutilate itself when it is left alone?”

Trunks blinked. “What?”

“There is no other way to describe it,” Piccolo said. “If you do not understand it now, then you will when you are older.”

“Hey! I’m not a little kid!”

“Except you are. I do not know what else to say to you on the matter.” 

Trunks turned his face away and crossed his arms, more in homage to Vegeta than the warrior at his side, and thrust his nose towards the ceiling.

Piccolo countered by folding his legs beneath himself as he floated into the air and closing his eyes. “If you do not like my answer, try a different question.”

Trunks considered Piccolo out of the corner of his eye, and then lowered his guard one arm at a time. “Does Gohan want to kill my father?” The words felt wrong on his tongue.

Piccolo made no move, save that of his lips. “What do you think?”

Thunder softly rolled in the distance from stormclouds carried in on the wind from the far-off sea. Its voice fumbled in the night, detached and lost without the illumination of lightning marking the way first.

Trunks’s mother walked back into the room with three mugs on a tray, and closed the discussion along with the door.


	29. Concussion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erato and Clio have a talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for reading and leaving comments!

Where there should have been a bipedal lion trussed up in a chef’s outfit and a hairnet stood a petite man sporting a black fedora over unruly dark hair with an orange motorcycle helmet in his hands- the same helmet that Sevoya had somehow claimed ownership of within the chaos of the Tenkaichi Budokai after the Great Saiyaman had mysteriously disappeared.

The stranger's deep blue eyes bugged out from where they sat on his flawless face as Hass gaped back at him.

“Wh-where’s Earl?” Hass asked.

The man opened his mouth, closed his mouth, and then smiled to reveal a row of straight, pearly teeth. “He’s… indisposed, at the moment, but he’ll be back.”

“What’re you doing with that helmet?! And where did you get that?” Hass gestured to the screaming orange Saiyaman helmet. “Did you go into my daughter’s room?” He loomed closer, his fatherly instinct temporarily shutting out his earlier fit of nerves. “Who the hell are you, you creep?!” He grabbed a rolling pin from the bed of snowy flour loitering by the pasta maker.

The stranger held out a hand. “Now, now, hold on. I’m not here to start trouble. I am only here for this, understand, so I’ll just take it and be on my way--”

“What gives you any right to come into my restaurant, sneak into my house, do God knows what with Earl, and--”

The intruder scurried behind the island in the center of the kitchen and as far away from the pursuing Hass and his raised rolling pin as he could. “I didn’t do anything to Earl Grey!”

“Bullshit!”

The two of them danced back and forth from both sides of the island, and then circled around it several times like they were the head and tail of a snake trying to consume itself. At one point, the stranger made for the back door, but Hass cut him off and the stranger again took cover behind the kitchen island, and the game resumed.

“Where is Earl, then?!” Hass panted out, finally pausing the chase to gulp down sloppy mouthfuls of air to calm his pounding heart.

“Stuck in traffic, thanks to another anti-Hercule-Satanist display,” the intruder said, eyeing his exit over Hass’s massive and heaving shoulder. “He’s fine, by the way. Only disgruntled and--!”

Hass lunged over the counter and grabbed the stranger by his open collar with one hand, his weapon of choice held aloft in the other. “How the hell do I know you aren’t lying?! Who the hell do you think you are, taking that helmet?! The Great Saiyaman?!”

A light shone from behind the stranger’s oceanic eyes. “If I said yes, would you let me go?”

Hass snarled. “Good superheroes don’t kiss a man’s daughter and then drop her out of the sky like she’s old news, you piece of shit!” Then, he clocked the blue-eyed stranger on the head and held him by his lapels as his legs gave out.

\---

The hospital room stood quiet and empty, save for Yamcha’s labored, lilted breaths sliding in and out through the room. Pu’ar sat on the plastic fold-out tray affixed to the bed with a glass of water almost as tall as he was in his paws. The water was warm now, thanks to the little blue cat’s attention, but Pu’ar simply needed something to hold.

Yamcha shifted in his sleep, his bruised and mangled face contorting from something, physical pain or perhaps a dream- maybe something with the face of Vegeta, maybe Cell, maybe even Tien Shinhan, or Son Goku himself illuminated in the eerie light of the full moon- and so Pu’ar wrapped his tail loosely around his wrist so his friend would know that someone was there for him.

Pu’ar felt like a scared kitten again, quietly watching over Yamcha as he lay sleeping after a particularly nasty encounter with wolves in the desert, or unkind strangers, back before Yamcha would boast and brag that he was the Wolf of the wastelands, the Lord of the Diablo Desert, and strike first so that passers-by would not take the opportunity to ambush the two of them instead.

The calming sage and cream of the walls blackened under the cover of nightfall, and the barely-there drips of fluid from Yamcha’s IV filled the space between the walls.

Concussions, among other things- like the long, thin, fingerprints of bruises stretching over the skin on Yamcha’s neck and the broken places on his arms, and the fragmentation of his ribs- kept the man down and quiet in this bed. Pu’ar wondered what Vegeta thought of the whole thing now that the violence was over and the damage was done. He wondered if he was even sorry.

Pu’ar’s Yamcha, the former bandit, was so loving, so loyal, and so, so kind. Pu’ar could see no reason that the aloof pirate from the stars- a disgraced prince- could be so vastly different from a forgotten human Lord of the Desert, and yet this was the second time that Yamcha had been so broken because of the flighty whims of Vegeta’s own impulsive, bloody nobility.

As children, forgiveness had been Pu’ar and Yamcha’s saving grace, and their doorway to a world outside of the desert and the thievery inherent in the dry, roaring sands. Yamcha had adopted the same philosophy, too. But to Pu’ar, Vegeta’s transgressions were proving too much. Yamcha himself was middle aged, now, and had joint problems and wrinkles overlapping with his scars to prove it. He could not simply bounce back from abuse like it was nothing anymore. What he had already endured was coming back to haunt him.

Yamcha groaned again, and shifted.

“Oh, Yamcha,” the little cat cried, making his way to the space between the sleeping Yamcha’s head and shoulder. Then, Pu’ar curled up into a ball and nestled there, like he could chase away whatever discomfort was bothering his first and truest friend simply by being there and keeping a vigil over him.

\---

The myriad of basements beneath Erato’s company were not as decorated as the upper floors, mostly for practical reasons, but also because the thought of pretending that visiting Clio’s laboratories was enjoyable in any way was the sort of joke that the Circle Leader could not stomach. He gave the lone piece of art on the wall in front of the doorway- a paint-by-number of a basket of bunnies that Thalia had completed when she was bored one day- a glance, and then input the code for the door and walked inside.

Clio’s personal burrow was as dark and disheveled as ever, from the looks of it. Whatever was in the area behind the stained, mismatched curtains blocking off the majority of the room was probably worse.

“Clio,” Erato called. His voice echoed off the high ceilings and bounced around the room. “I have a meeting in a few days and I have something I would like for you to do for me before then.” Erato took a few steps into the room and pulled back one of the curtains. “Clio?”

Still no answer.

Melpomene lay in the center of the room, a menagerie of machines and monitors looming over his form and boxes of half-eaten food littering the place.

“Clio,” Erato called again. “I know where you are.”

“Humm,” A dry voice reverberated through the room.

“Clio,” Erato warned. “Please come down here before I have to make you.”

Clio sighed again. “Oh, but you’re all business as usual. That is so very boring! I don’t feel like it!” Something small and metallic clinked onto the ground as if from the ceiling, and then the distinct crunch of food being chewed came after. “Don’t you ever come by just to say hello?”

“Clio, we’ve made a move to go public now. We do not have time to dawdle.”

The hare’s voice still floated down from above, but in a new place this time. Erato could see the sickly green glare reflecting from the single lens Clio wore leering down at him from within the web of pipes populating the ceiling. “Clio this, Clio that. Clio, I need you, Clio. Help me, Clio! I can’t do anything without your expertise, Clio!” Incessant laughter wriggled into Erato’s ears next. “I can’t dare let you leave, Clio! Oh, no! Filthy animals belongs in a cage!” The laughter stopped. “You’re the one who belongs in a cage! A glass one. full of formaldehyde. Where I can study you.”

Erato ran a hand through his long hair. “If you chose to be more cooperative, I would not feel the need to keep you here in this dungeon of a place. Which you yourself chose,” he added.

“So if I’m a good pet,” Clio called back, “I get a reward?” His buck teeth clicked together as he laughed again. “I get a treat?! What’ll you do if I’m bad? Eat me?!”

Erato sighed. “What is it that you want?”

A new peal of laughter shook the room. “You think I’d just tell you? No!” The flash of light on his lens disappeared from view, and the scratch of claws on metal announced that he was moving. Not that it mattered- Erato had a lock on both Clio’s qi and his scent. He felt the hair on the back of his neck begin to stand up in impatience and anger. His tail began to twitch where it was stuffed in his pants leg, too. “It was just starting to get fun!”

Erato took a deep breath. “Before I meet with the King of the World, I--”

“Oh! The King of the World?! Really! You gonna eat him?” Clio tore into some other food to punctuate his statement. “Mmm, regicide makes me hungry!”

“...I wanted to know your thoughts on those suits we’ve procured from the Capsule Corporation. I want to know your honest opinion of them, and if you think we can develop them for our specific purposes here, in-house, rather than go through another party.”

“You want an army of fortified energy users to help you take our good King Furry to the pound? Ha!”

Erato folded his hands neatly behind his back. “No. That is not what I am after at all.”

“Oh, _please_. You can’t dominate the world by asking a dog to sit, shake, and roll over for you. Most animal folk don’t actually act like, you know, _trained circus animals!_ ”

At that, Erato felt his throat constrict to release a growl.

More shuffling came from the ceiling. “Ooh! Ooh! I heard that! I _did_! There it is!”

Clio dropped from the ceiling and landed squarely in front of Erato, papers and wires and vegetables alike scattering at his impact, and his toothy grin reached both sides of his face like he were a Cheshire Cat and not a March Hare. Bits of food were wedged in his teeth. “I should be scared,” Clio said. “I think I am scared. And I _love_ it.” he laughed and moved his face closer so that his fleshy nose was twitching and flaring and all but touching Erato’s. “Dig your claws into me. Let’s see you do it! C’mon, scaredy cat, get mad!”

Erato drew himself to his full height, and then relaxed with a controlled huff. “...No, I think i’d rather not.”

The ambient green light on Clio’s single lens danced across the glass surface as he turned his head away to pout. “Boring. You’re boring!”

Erato ignored him. “I’m going to keep intact this unified world that the King’s line had made, and I am going to enlighten it. It is not within my interest to destroy it, nor rule it, not really.”

“Making the planet a better place, one world crisis at a time,” Clio mocked. 

“Except, as it stands, this world falls apart at every major modern crisis- and for all of these crises, we do not ever know a thing about besides the lies they tell us- which are all made up on the spot because King Furry, I suspect, is just as clueless as the rest of us.” Erato shook his head. “This cannot continue. If we are to grow to be able to defend ourselves as both a world and a unified nation, living in the dark is idiocy. I will advance us all.”

Clio snorted. “By holding me hostage and squeezing answers out of me like I'm a big-eared lemon. Alright, Prometheus, you think telling people about how relatively easy it was for Gero to make a bioweapon of Cell’s caliber based on the DNA of the aliens who walk among us is going to endear you to them?”

Erato blinked. “Aliens…?”

Then, Clio hopped backwards and covered his exaggeratedly open mouth with a paw. “Oops! Did I say that? I didn’t ruin your dreams about the Monkey King with his human face and an animal tail, did I? You thought he was someone else who was like you?” Clio’s paws cupped both sides of his own face and he gasped in mock horror. “Now, that would be just _awful_ of me to do!”

“Cell was made from Son Goku’s genetic material? The hair on Erato’s tail began to expand within his pants. His palms itched to pull a handful of needles from his pockets and fill Clio’s pressure points full of them just to make him talk straight.

But Clio was more valuable- and less dangerous- when he was comfortably conceited. Let him think he could keep the upper hand by playing mind games and spewing half-truths and riddles. 

“Is Son Goku really from another world?” Erato asked. “Are all of the Sundrop Children?”

Clio hopped over to the table holding up Melpomene’s body and began to tinker with something on the side of his head. “Oh, so you _did_ figure out that Son Goku was a golden warrior. I suppose you do listen to the implications behind Terpsichore’s blathering sometimes.”

Terpsichore was overzealous and hasty, but still much more dear to Erato personally than his thin semblance of patience towards the hare’s jibes. Erato let his tail slide through the slit in the seat of his pants and wave back and forth as a quiet warning. “But are they actually aliens?”

Clio snorted. “What do _you_ think?”

That it was ridiculous, all of it. Children with humanoid forms and animal features were uncommon and riddled with health problems and peculiarities, but they did exist- with Erato himself as proof. The likelihood of an alien race that looked exactly like the hybrid child of an animal person and a regular human was too convenient to be true.

“Will you do as I asked about the suits?” Erato said.

Clio rolled his head on his neck, and then flattened his ears. Then, he eyed his Leader. “Fine. Fine! Playtime’s over. It’s deal time. I’ll be a good bunny.” He grinned, and the light caught on his teeth. “If you do something for me.”

Erato pursed his lips and nodded at the ground. “Of course. If it is within reason.”

“The weird man I found up in the Tsumitsumburi mountains. The thing he’s lying inside of. When he wakes up, give it to me.”


	30. Strangers With Many Faces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hass strikes a deal with Polymnia, an advocate from the Circle of the Inner Flame.
> 
> And The Great Saiyaman Returns!

Polymnia awoke to the sunlight peeking in over the side of the windowsill and driving white-hot bolts into his brain. He cursed and shut his eyes again, and moved his arms up to shield his face from the oncoming assault- or, he would have, if his arms weren’t tied to the back of the chair that his legs were likewise affixed to.

So, instead, he groaned.

Polymnia felt Hass Anillo’s inner flame spike suddenly and heard a loud gasp, and a thud that shook the room. The huge man had most likely fallen asleep whilst keeping vigil over Polymnia- from what the smaller captive had gathered from the split second he had his eyes open, they were sitting in a bedroom. The lump on his head throbbed as if in agreement.

Damn pastry accessories.

“I can’t believe,” Polymnia said, craning his head as far away from the light as he possibly could, “That you chose to tie me to a chair instead of taking me to the authorities.”

Hass’s deep voice carried over from the floor to Polymnia’s right. “After all the chaos that damn Circle caused? Schools and businesses might still be open, but there’s unrest, riots, and demonstrations popping up in Satan City every day- the PD is barely holding together, now that their superstar Videl- Videl Satan, I might add- is both dethroned and gone.”

Hass was surprisingly sharp, even at his worst, and Polymnia was honestly thankful. Still, he could not stop the sarcastic sneer spreading out over his face. “What’s this? An upstanding citizen like yourself doesn’t believe in the World Champ?” 

“Are you making fun of me?!”

Polymnia adjusted his hands in their binding and popped his shoulder with a grunt. “So how’s Earl?”

“I-! Oh. Uh. Earl’s,” Polymnia could practically hear the oars strain as Hass’s thought process made an about-face. From the looks of things, the guy had been drowning with stress as it was and his new guest was just icing on the cake, now. “Earl’s fine, actually, like you said. I called him right after I, you, uh,” he cleared his throat. “Yeah. He was stuck in the traffic from the chaos of a Circle protest until about ten o’clock.”

The Satan City Circle was hardly a Circle at all. “Mm, great. Good. Say, could you close that curtain for me? The light’s shining right into my eyes like it’s Christ’s second coming and my head’s throbbing like a strip club on a Friday night. It’s like oil and water, you know?”

“Oh! Oh, uh, yeah, sure,” Hass said. Polymnia could hear him stumble over his own feet in his haste, and then he felt the offending light stop clawing at the other side of his eyelids.

“Thanks,” Polymnia said, blinking. “And can I get a glass of water or something?”

“Yeah, sure, no problem. I can get you some eggs or something, too, if-- hey!” Hass blurted, whirling around. “This isn’t a bed and breakfast! Y-you broke into my daughter’s room! And impersonated my sous chef, and then tried to make it out like you were Saiyaman! You’re not Saiyaman- I know him!” He stuck out a meaty, accusatory finger at Polymnia like it were the sharp end of a spear and the hostage a wild boar. “You’re supposed to be, like, a big ol’ lion! Or have a big ol’ lion accomplice! Or something, I dunno! What the hell did you do?! Am I going crazy? What do you want?! Are you a stalker?! Are you stalking me?” His voice lowered and he crept closer to Polymnia, his eyes squeezed into thin, suspicious lines. “Were you stalking my daughter? Don’t you touch her, you scrawny-ass--”

Polymnia slipped his bindings and held up both palms defensively. “Woah, woah, slow down there, man. I only came for the helmet so I could clean this town up.”

Hass loomed ever closer like a great black galloping glacier. “--scrawny-ass sonuvabitch, or I swear I’ll take this rolling pin,” he pulled out the same rolling pin he had wielded last night from his apron- had he slept with the thing?- and thrust in front of Polymnia for emphasis, “And I’ll shove it so far up where the sun don’t shine that your intestine’s’ll be rolling your crap out into crap crust for the rest of your sick, miserable-”

Polymnia transformed into a lion in a great plume of smoke. “I don’t care about your daughter! I’m a shapeshifter, okay?! Happy?”

Poor Hass stared at the changed Polymnia for a few seconds, his tirade forgotten, and then fainted with a spectacular crash.

\---

At first glance, the kingdom on Fire Mountain appeared as a fairy-tale, with a disproportionately huge and colorful palace standing over a smattering of pristine village homes made from wood and straw or the Capsule Corporation’s brand both. Upon closer inspection, the dry cracks in the earth and the uneven color of the weathered palace and humble houses made themselves apparent. It was still like a fantasy story, Thalia thought, but it was more in line with an Aesop that had yet to come to pass than it was a happily ever after. 

Two villagers, an old man and an old woman, came around the path. Thalia pulled the Monkey King’s mask down over her face and quietly crept into the brush and out of their line of sight. Once they were gone, she slowly made her way across the arid, earth-dusted landscape to the side of Fire Mountain where no villagers lived. She scaled its side like she used to do as a younger woman, like her grandfather had instructed her father to do, and then her brothers, on the cliffs at home when they were alive and training for a better tomorrow. 

\---

Hass awoke on his bed, in his room, like always. He jolted upright in shock, looked to his left, then to his right, and then at the clock minding its own business on the bedside table. It was almost one in the afternoon. Hass should have opened the restaurant twenty minutes ago. Was Earl already in the kitchen? Or could he have missed work again because of some new Circle debacle?

The thought had no sooner entered Hass’s head when he remembered the strange man from yesterday- the one who had inexplicably appeared as a heartbreaker with a pirate’s smile one moment, and then a tall and gangly lion chef the next. Where was he? Still in the house? Waiting to come back with a knife and slit Hass’s throat? The big man frantically searched his apron pockets, and then the nearby comforter. Where was his rolling pin?! And where was his daughter?!

All these questions were driving Hass insane!

Then, the impostor entered the room as if on cue, this time bearing the visage of the same dark-haired man with unruly hair as he had last night- freshly dampened, as if from the shower, and dressed in one of Hass’s oversized robes with a loaded tray in his hands.

“Oh, good. You’re awake.” The stranger held out the tray of egg whites and fruit towards Hass, and then set it down on the bedside table when the big man made no move to take them. “Earl made you this. Well, technically, he made me this. He’s running the restaurant for you, so-”

“What the hell is going on?!” Hass shouted.

“Shh,” the man soothed. “I turned into you and told him that you felt about as great as an armadillo flattened out on asphalt toast with a side of vultures peppered over your innards. In fewer words. And he bought it. He’s totally in the dark.” The stranger then nabbed the mug of tea off the tray and took a sip. “We’re good.”

“What?!”

“Would you rather I’d stayed exactly like I am and told him I’m your candy-ass twink lover?” the man gestured to the multitudinous folds of plush fabric currently engulfing his body. “That’s about the only other way I could spin this, compadre.”

“Why are you even here?! Why are you even wearing my robe?!” Hass looked down. “Are those Sevoya’s slippers?!”

The stranger looked down at himself. “Yeah. I’d rather sport loungewear that matched, too, personally, but yours were so big I couldn’t even walk in them and I was pretty sure you’d blow a gasket if I put on your daughter’s robe. So anyway, I think we got off to a bad start. I’m Polymnia, and--”

_“Why aren’t you in your own damn clothes?!”_

“They’re in the wash. Anyway, at first I was kinda pissed at you for clocking me over the head, tying me up, and then fainting right on top of me, but then I got to thinkin’, we’re all on the same side, right? So what’s a little assault in the face of an itty bitty bit of B and E, you know?” Polymnia grinned. “It’s all water under the bridge. I decided to forgive you and use this place as a base. Real benevolent of me, if I do say so myself.”

“B-base?! Base for what?! You can’t stay here! This is my house!” Hass leapt to his feet and shook the floor as Polymnia strode to the foot of the bed and took a seat on the very chair he had been tied to not a few hours earlier. 

Hass heard Earl’s muffled shout from the floor below. “You okay up there?”

Hass opened his mouth to cry wolf, but was beaten to the punch by a perfect facsimile of his own voice erupting from Polymnia instead. 

“Yeah, I’m good. I just tripped.” Polymnia paused. “I can’t believe you didn’t even let me have the egg yolks, man!”

“I keep telling you to watch your cholesterol!” came Earl’s reply.

Hass felt his knees go weak and crashed down onto his old mattress, both from shock and an exhaustion he had not realized still gripped him. “What the hell,” he said, staring at Polymnia as if he had sprouted another head. “You’re really an impostor,” he said.

Polymnia nodded and took another sip of Hass’s tea. “When the situation calls for it, yeah. It’s not as easy for full humans to hold other physicals forms for long periods of time, though, so I try to avoid holding other forms.” He crossed his legs and leaned forward. “Which brings me to why I’m even here.”

Hass gulped and wondered if Polymnia could turn into a giant dragon and swallow him whole if he wanted to.

“I’m getting sick of the bullshit the Satan City cult fanatics are pulling out here, you know, but as a member of an actual, real, legitimate, official Circle of the Inner Flame, it’d look bad for my people if I openly went toe-to-toe with them, right? A little too violent, too forward. It’ll look too much like a suspicious publicity stunt.” Polymnia hooked his fingers into the handle of the mug and spread his arms wide. “But let’s say that the Great Saiyaman made a triumphant return and started cleaning up the city in tribute not to Hercule Satan, but to Erato and the Western, Southern, Northern, and High Northeastern Circles? Cool, right?” He winked. “It’s still technically a publicity stunt, but the sincerity of it isn’t as questionable, and I don’t get people hounding me and thinking that the Circle itself is some evil entity of martial law, or something.”

“I don’t want any part of any Circles,” Hass said.

“Not the one here, no.” Polymnia said. “ _God no!_ Nobody in their right mind wants to be part of the one here. That’s why I’m gonna get rid of it.”

“I don’t care. I don’t want any of it,” Hass said.

The faint sounds of Earl fumbling with the pots and pans tugged at the floorboards of the room, oblivious.

Polymnia held Hass’s face in his deep blue eyes, and then sighed. “Yeah, well. Your wife felt differently, I understand.” 

Hass looked down at his hands. 

Polymnia stood. “I’m going to take a nap. My head’s still pounding. You just sit there and think about it. Eat your healthy breakfast. And then, don’t forget to brush your teeth after.”

Hass covered his face as the hinges of his bedroom door creaked closed.

\---

Fire Mountain’s palace was a place of alabaster, crimson, jade, and gold- all of it- with courtyards and gardens laid out between the grid of hallways that sat beyond its grand entryway and open dining hall. A two-story balcony jutted out from the backside of the complex to look out into the mouth of the caldera like it were looking down the throat of the beast that threatened to swallow it at any moment.

Thalia took off her mask and let the soft breeze blowing across her vantage point on the side of the mountain caress her face. She may have been used to extreme conditions, but it was certainly hot here, with the sun high above her and an eternal fire radiating more heat from below her.

The mountains of Thalia’s home had never been this arid or cruel, but they had been taller and harder to scale, especially back when she had to wear weights on her back as she did so.

She closed her eyes, and then opened them again as the wind finally left her behind.

Down in the palace’s largest courtyard, two figures moved about like ants crawling over on a picnic. Thalia replaced her mask and jumped over rock and crag until she finally landed on the tiled roof of the complex. Her feet and hands were silent as she quietly made her way to the center of the palace, and then ducked so that she could peer down into the courtyard undetected.

Sometimes, the act of constricting her massive ki inside of herself was a blessing.

Son Chi Chi and Videl Satan stood in the courtyard, shovels held in their gloved hands, overturning clump after clump of overgrown weeds and untamed, gnarled flowers from the ground, and then chopping up the roots with a staccato set of downward thrusts from the sharp point of the shovel. Most of the foliage had already been dealt with, save the remnants of the single flower bed both were currently planting their shovels into.

Videl’s face held a decided frown as she attacked her patch of earth with the heat of her temper fueling every strike. Thalia gripped the curved tiles of the roof with her fingers tightly and swallowed the metallic tang coating her mouth, wishing that she had the right words for an apology sitting on her tongue instead.

Son Chi Chi worked more methodically, and with just as much aggression, but it was more subdued and tired. Her straw sunhat slipped down on her head as she looked up towards the sky.

“It’s gettin’ to be the hottest time of the day,” Son Chi Chi said. Thalia had to strain to hear her even though the sound bounced off the two floors surrounding them and carried upwards. “We should take a break.”

Videl had other plans, apparently. “Look, I just want to get this done, okay? So you can stop if you want, but I’m not going to!”

“Oh, really, miss priss?” Son Chi Chi’s hands found her hips, and Thalia could feel a surge of energy growing inside her for just a split second and then pulsing out, like a heartbeat- like Son Gohan’s did, only hers was like a common skink in comparison to a dragon. Her accent grew more pronounced. “We’re almost done preparin’ all the soil! What do you reckon you’ll do once you finish those last shovelfuls, huh? Turn it all over and do it again? Stand in the sun and get heatstroke, just because?”

“Hey, you’re the one who said I had to help you, so why don’t you just give me the next chore and I’ll do it without your obnoxious commentary, okay?”

For a moment, Son Chi Chi looked like she might scream back, but instead, she only sighed.

“Well?” Videl asked, plunging her shovel into the earth.

“The sun’s got to kill the roots,” Son Chi Chi said. “Once that happens, we can spread the soil back out again in the beds along the sides, and smooth the rest of it out to make a rock garden. Nothin’ else will grow here now that’s summer’s about to start. The year was already too dry to begin with, anyway.”

Videl looked around. “Oh. Uh,” she left her shovel to stand on its own and crossed her arms. “Well, what else? I could start on another garden, or something.”

Son Chi Chi held her tongue for a long minute. “Help me make lemonade and snacks for the boys,” she finally said.

At that, Videl scoffed. “Huh? Why? Can’t they make their own? And where even is Gohan- why isn’t he helping with this?”

Son Gohan was there in the palace, like a metronome that marked the passing of every moment beneath the sweltering sun. Thalia could feel Son Gohan and the pulsing, silent terror of his energy through the walls. Poor Videl- she had no idea that Son Gohan had flown across the continent last night and released enough fury to level the planet if he so chose. From the looks of it, she probably did not even know that he was the Delivery Boy. Thalia almost wondered if the right thing to do would be to kidnap Videl and hide her as far away from the Sons as possible.

Son Chi Chi shook her head. “That ain’t the point. And they’re for you, too,” she said, almost pleading. “You ever made onigiri before? It’s kinda fun.”

Videl blinked, and tilted her head. The way her pigtails flopped on either side of her head made her look like a confused dog. “No, not really. We’ve had a cook since I was ten, and nobody was around to teach me.”

“What about your mama?”

Videl shook her head. “Like it’s your business.”

“I had to teach myself how to look out for myself and my daddy, too,” Son Chi Chi said, nodding and fanning herself, and then escaped to the shade of the palace’s interior. “Go take a shower and then meet me in the kitchen.”

Videl’s right foot crashed down into the earth. “And what if I don’t?”

“Then there’s more for me,” Son Chi Chi called back, and disappeared into the palace.

Videl dug around in the earth for a few minutes more, like sifting the ground could help her sift through her feelings, and then abandoned her shovel to follow the lady of the house.

\---

In West City, the sky was mottled and marred by the smog of civilization so badly that only the brightest stars could cut through it to peer down at Piccolo. It irked him.

Sunrises, on the other hand, could not be forgotten and pushed out of the modern sphere no matter how much trash the denizens of the city tried to separate themselves from nature. The sky this morning was a gentle pink and a vibrant orange, and the light of the sun itself shimmered out over the horizon like a river of gleaming gold threatening to spill out over the edge of the sky and across the Earth.

This universe was, in fact, like a glass, the Nameless Namek knew, with the mortal plane sitting at the bottom like the impurities and stones in a stream, and heaven and hell both quivering and floating atop it, ready to spill out first should anyone or anything be so inclined to tip the balance this way or that way.

Piccolo cleared his mind and imagined that same glass, except perfectly still and undisturbed, free from any ripples that Gohan’s anger had elicited across his planet or in his old teacher’s peace of mind. Vegeta’s seething presence smoldered and bit at its own neck nearby, in a place where Piccolo could at least keep an eye trained on it and pretend that he could do anything about it should the Prince decide to act on his many moods.

Piccolo’s meditative form slowly rose from the smooth metal roof of the Briefs Complex and hovered in front of the sun’s light.

Vegeta was an angry child who did not know himself. Piccolo understood this fact deeply, as he once mirrored his struggle. Would it be wise to approach him now, or to wait until he had been left to break himself against his frustrations and realized on his own that his pride was still choking him?

Of course, Vegeta surely already knew that. To make him admit it, however, would be akin to passing a camel through a needle’s eye. 

Dende had insisted that his mentor be the one to try and reach out and mend this situation, but frankly, no part of the Nameless Namek was quite sure what to say. Perhaps Dende himself would have been the more appropriate candidate for such a mission. He had a talent for speaking to the truly surly like one would a child without making it inherently obvious that he was treating them like a petulant child. Not that Piccolo would ever have had reason to be on the receiving end of such treatment. The only reason he knew was because--

“Hey, Mister Piccolo?” Trunks’s normal speaking voice might as well have been like gunfire to the Nameless Namek’s sensitive ears, and he almost jumped right out of his lotus position in fright. He had been so distracted that he had neither sensed the child waking nor recognized the sound of his pulse slowly coming closer.

“Yes, Trunks?” Piccolo asked, his face a facade of stoicism.

“You said if I didn’t like your answers to my questions, I could ask you different ones, right?”

“Yes,” Piccolo said. “So what do you want to know?”

The little boy fidgeted for a moment, and then pulled his legs to his torso and wrapped his arms around them to still himself. His lilac hair fell over his forehead in a gentle wave as he fixed Piccolo with his startlingly blue eyes. The way they reflected the light reminded the Nameless Namek of the gleaming tiles of the Lookout when they caught the sky in their shine, like the surface of the water that was the universe. “What was my father like?” Trunks asked. “When you first met him?”

Piccolo closed his eyes in thought, and then opened them to look back to the golden sun.

The day had almost fully arrived, and it beautified the entire city so that it looked like a place made entirely of light, like a place where gods should dwell instead of mortals.

How wonderful it would be, if the world were truly categorized like that and mortal warriors deemed some powers too sacred to be wielded; if only foolish, angry princes did not also possess the power to glow gold.

Piccolo looked back at Trunks. “An entitled, elitist bully. Next question.”

\---

Thalia’s first glance of Son Gohan contrasted sharply with the last one seared into her memory, back when he had been the figure behind the Monkey King mask and not she. He wore a changshan of scarlet fabric beneath an intricate design of gold embroidery and long white pants despite the heat, and he carried himself the way that Terpsichore did when he thought nobody was looking except Calliope and his students. In his hand was a glowing sphere of energy, and in front of him stood tiny Son Goten, dressed in the same style as his brother, only with indigo coloring his shirt instead of red, and flanking the child was the father and daughter of the Satan family.

They four of them stood in the same courtyard that Son Chi Chi and Videl had dug up the day prior, and Thalia likewise occupied her same spot upon the roof.

Gohan held out the ball of energy to Mark Satan first, and the man slowly, cautiously, reluctantly touched his fingertips to it, and then jumped back as if he had been bitten.

Son Gohan laughed, and offered it to him again.

After a moment, Mark Satan returned to the boy’s side, tiptoeing forth one inch at a time, and prodded the glowing ball once again with wonder. Then, Son Gohan took the man’s hand and placed the sphere into his palm.

Mark Satan shrieked once he realized that the strange light was no longer attached to Son Gohan, and hopped around in panic to the tune of Son Goten’s lilting, childish laughter.

“‘S’just ki!” Son Goten got out between giggles. It did little to assuage Mark Satan’s nerves.

It was bizarre, to say the least, for Thalia to watch the man who inadvertently destroyed her family by decrying ki usage as fraud learn to use the very same power.

Mark Satan finally calmed himself enough to examine the ball, and then his face broke out into a wide grin. He dashed over to his daughter and held it out to her.

Videl gazed in unbridled curiosity at the orb at first, but then rebuffed her father with a toss of her head.

From between the two of them, Son Goten assessed the situation, and then happily created another ball of shining ki and held it up to Videl instead. She looked to Son Gohan, and then accepted it at the older boy’s nod of approval.

Then, once both father and daughter had occupied hands, Son Gohan made a fluid gesture from his core to his feet, and then began to levitate into the air.

“The same energy that you hold in your hands can be put into your feet to levitate. That’s called cloud-stepping. And then, once you master that, you can make it surround you and propel you forward in true flight.” The sun glinted off the jeweled tones of Son Gohan’s changshan as he made a single revolution around the courtyard. His torso shimmered as though he were clothed in flame.

Then, he landed, and coached Videl and Mark Satan both on how to try and draw out their energy before moving on to walk Goten through how he should direct his boundless enthusiasm.

Thalia had first been taught not martial arts techniques, not kata, not ki manipulation, but training exercises. Endurance exercises. Watching Son Gohan parse out the basics of finding one’s inner center before beating that center, shaping it, isolating it, testing it to its limit without ever reaping any benefit from it until exhaustion was overcome and human limitations surpassed, was so incredibly strange. It was so casual, the way Son Gohan handed out such secrets. Not even Terpsichore was this open-handed.

Then again, Son Gohan, son of the Monkey King, was a living myth, so perhaps the idea of freely giving his fire to humans was not so profound so long as they stayed on his mountain and under his watchful eye.

Son Goten took to the air, his arms stretched out as if to balance himself, or to let each individual finger taste the heavens as he travelled closer and closer to them.

Thalia crawled beneath the eaves of the roof and pressed her body against them to hide herself in the shadows that they cast.

“Look!” the little boy cried. “Lookit me!”

Gohan clapped his hands, grinned, and joined his brother in the air.

\---

Polymnia had vanished some time yesterday without Hass’s knowing, as if he had been nothing but a bad dream. Sevoya had been likewise elusive, and Hass was sorely tempted to call the police station despite his misgivings when the receptionist at Orange Star High School revealed that Sevoya had indeed skipped everything after her second period class yet again. A voicemail on her cell phone was as close as he got to discovering her whereabouts.

Worse, Sevoya did not return home that night, either. But the orange motorcycle helmet that had further flipped Hass’s life upside-down did- on the late night news. The Great Saiyaman single-handedly shut down an Anti-Satanist riot in front of the courthouse, and uncovered a meeting regarding a planned Anti-Satanist Circle terrorist attack. The hero was shorter than usual, Hass noticed, and he winced when a rioter grabbed his arm and socked him on his exposed mouth. But then, Hass had been looking especially closely, and the media’s perfectly quaffed newscasters had not.

Polymnia himself walked in the back door of the restaurant kitchen in a belted green dress and black tights not two hours later, at one o'clock in the morning, pressing one hand against his head as if his brains might fall out otherwise and using the other one to grip the iconic helmet. He sported a string of lovely bruises on his right forearm and a split lip.

Hass had his rolling pin poised and ready before Polymnia could say two words.

“You know all about the shadiest places in this city,” Hass said. “Right? You’re on an exposure mission. You know things. You know where everyone and everything is, or how to find out.”

To which Polymnia raised his eyebrows, and then nodded after a tilt of his chin and a shrug of his shoulders.

“Then find my daughter,” Hass said, waving the free handle of his weapon in Polymnia’s face, “bring her home. If you can’t, then make sure she’s safe. Do that, and you can stay here as long as you like.”

“She’s been hopping to and from homeless shelters and the house of one of her classmates for the past three days,” Polymnia croaked out. “Some chick named Erasa. She’s been looking at bus tickets. I don’t know why.”

“Are you lying?”

Polymnia blinked slowly, as if he might fall asleep at any moment. “She’s on the Satan City Circle’s Persons of Interest list- I’m sure I don’t need to tell you why. And so that made it my business.”

Hass put down his rolling pin for the Saiyaman helmet, handed Polymnia the glass of water and pain medicine he had prepared, and then sat the bruised man down in front of a bowl of minestrone and a plate of pork.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, y'all.
> 
> Thanks for reading and leaving feedback.
> 
> There are doodles of Polymnia on my blog, for the interested:  
> http://heavydbz.tumblr.com/post/146187891108/a-new-character-appears-the-token-bishounen


	31. In the Bamboo Grove

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Monkey King and The Red Boy meet again on Fire Mountain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and commenting!

Thalia could see both Son boys through the grove of parched bamboo, their bodies sliced into little pieces by the upward slashes of the brittle poles like pieces of a puzzle that Thalia could not quite fit into one single picture. Son Gohan, in red, tapped his fingers against one of the larger trunks of hollow wood and then nodded to his little brother, who wore a blue sky on his back as if in defiance of the dusty heavens holding the drought over their heads. Son Goten bowed to the stalk of bamboo his brother had marked, and struck at its base with the side of his hand. The ensuing crash of paper-thin leaves announced the bamboo’s arrival to the ground as promptly as if it had been cut clean through with the single stroke of a blade.

“Good,” Thalia heard Son Gohan say. He produced a smooth, plain staff- brighter than blood, red like happiness itself- and thrust it into the ground. “Grow,” he said, and the staff climbed into the dull sky obediently until it was taller than all of the stalks around them. 

The tip of Son Goten’s nose followed it upwards as he tilted his head backwards in childish awe.

“We’ll gather what we get right here. Ten each. Okay? And only good ones,” Son Gohan said. “It’ll be a race to see who can get them faster. Ready?”

His little brother nodded vigorously as a grin appeared on his face, and then the two of them became but ribbons of color weaving in and out of the grove. 

Thalia pressed herself lower to the ground behind a smattering of half-dead shoots and a shrub of new growth, and prayed that the two Sons did not stumble across her by accident. Stalks fell almost inexplicably to the ground around her, foliage brushing together in a hush before being spirited away to the red pole standing in the center of the grove.

Then, when Son Gohan had taken down nine bamboo stalks and Son Goten had seven, both boys appeared once more in a clash at the base of a particularly large tower of bamboo springing up from the ground to her left. Son Goten yelped in surprise when his older brother deftly intercepted his hand and used the momentum to flip the child onto his back.

“No fair!” Son Goten cried, leaping to his feet and brushing thin leaves the color of parchment out of his unruly hair. “You’re winning, anyway!”

Son Gohan laughed. “I never said you couldn’t fight for them. The person who gets it to the Nyoibo is who it counts for.”

His little brother’s eyes grew wide as if in wonder, and then narrowed in thought. Then, he struck at Son Gohan with a flat palm as the older boy took down the contentious trunk of bamboo with barely a tap, right where the first ring of white burst through between the joints of living brown-green.

Son Gohan sidestepped his little brother’s attack, and so Son Goten instead brought his leg up to deliver a kick to the back of his brother’s. The older boy simply hopped over it and then dodged the flattened, pointed strike of fingers that came his way when he touched back down on the ground.

It was at this moment that the pole of bamboo finally hit the ground with a softened crash. The younger Son sent another flurry of strikes the older boy’s way with the practiced deliberance of a kata rather than a true attack, like the two of them were playing patty-cake rather than actually sparring. Then, slowly, gradually, he sped up and his movements became more aggressive, more pointed.

Son Goten moved with a certain precision, Thalia decided, and it was totally different from his brother’s calculated and measured moves.

The child delivered a few more crane strikes, and then threw a closed fist when the others failed to land. His brother opted to catch that one instead of letting it sail by.

“Getting frustrated?” Son Gohan asked.

“Yes!” The younger boy jerked his hand away from his brother’s grip and tried to crash his foot into Son Gohan’s shin with little success.

At which, Son Gohan laughed and danced into the air away from his brother, the obtrusive poles of bamboo slicing his retreat into segments like the whole scene was made of separated, individual images grouped together on a reel of film displayed before Thalia’s eyes. “Fighting dirty, are we? Did Trunks teach you that?”

“Yeah, and I fall for it every time!” Son Goten shot back, scattering the dry leaves at his feet as he took to the air and levitated in front of the older boy. “I thought for sure it would work!” He adopted a fighting stance in midair, and then wobbled when he discovered that there was nothing grounding him besides his own energy. “W-woah!”

Son Gohan floated over to him. “Fighting in the air doesn’t work like that,” he said. “In fact, you shouldn’t let someone drag you into the air in a fight unless you have total control of the situation.”

By the time Thalia had learned to fly, there had been nobody left to teach her this lesson. She had learned it the hard way.

“Why?” Son Goten asked, straightening out.

“Because,” Son Gohan said, charging and stopping his hand just short of his brother’s chest to catch him as the little boy’s feet were swept out from under him by Gohan’s leg, “It’s much easier to knock you to the ground, and that hurts a lot more and is much harder to recover from- assuming you don’t take the opportunity to try and run away. Plus,” he steadied Son Goten, and then suddenly snagged his foot and held the little boy aloft by his ankle. Then, he swung him around in a circle. “You’re totally vulnerable from below!” 

Son Goten gave a cry of surprise as he moved around and around in the air, and then let his hands fly freely behind his head as his shouts turned to laughter.

Son Gohan gradually ceased spinning his brother and gently released him.

“I’m dizzy,” the little boy announced, settling back down onto the detritus of the ground with a soft plop and the accompanying confetti of dried leaves he displaced in his descent. 

“I’ll bet,” Son Gohan said, joining his younger brother on the ground. “But seriously, you don’t go in the air in a fight except as a ploy for dominance to make your opponent have less control and take away the advantage of having solid ground beneath their feet. That, or maybe as a scare tactic.”

“What’s scary about flying?”

Thalia could not help but picture the first time she met Terpsichore, his green hair standing on end and streaming into the air around him like a crown of snakes, as he created a tornado around himself and sent his voice out upon the wind loud enough to deafen anyone unlucky enough to be caught in his storm.

Son Gohan shrugged. “To you and me, not much. But we are not most people. And,” he grinned, “it’s actually better that you’ve been fighting Trunks from the ground when he decided to fly.”

Son Goten blinked up at his brother. “Why?”

Because it was a greater challenge, for one. But more than that, it ensured that Son Goten had developed strategies to bring the battle back to his level, or at least he had learned to weather onslaughts when at a disadvantage. The child probably did not realize it, though- Thalia herself was the only person she knew who actively and constantly trained in preparation for being totally grounded and disadvantaged to the point of absurdity.

Well, her family had done the same, but they were dead, so they hardly counted anymore.

“Just make sure that you’re the one who brings Trunks to your level- don’t let him lead. Make him fight you on your terms. And that goes for more than just fighting Trunks,” Son Gohan said. “That’s just the smart thing to do. Don’t let other people goad you into things.”

Son Goten nodded. “I dunno what “goad” means,” he said, “but is that what you did when you fought Trunks’s dad? Brought him to your level? Is that why it was over so fast?”

The smile dropped from Son Gohan’s face. “I told you I didn’t want to talk about that.” His distinct pulse of energy spread out over the dirt and into the grove for a beat, escaping from his body like a note of hissing air from a pressurized can before it was patched back up just as quickly. It was not entirely unlike the movement Thalia’s energy went through when she released the seal on her own ki. “Remember? I asked you not to, and then we had fun teaching Videl and Mister Satan to fly.” He smiled at his brother again. “We have another lesson soon. So let’s not be late, okay?”

“But why can’t we talk about it?” Son Goten asked. “Trunks and I fight all the time.”

“Goten, that’s different. It was dangerous, and the wrong thing to do. That’s why.”

“But you didn’t get hurt, and you said that Uncle Vegeta woke up and got healed ‘cause of the bean Trunks had. What’s so bad about that?”

Son Gohan looked away. “Yamcha got hurt.”

Yamcha- Yamcha of the Turtle Hermit’s school of martial arts was surely who they meant. Thalia wondered if he had also been presented with the name of Son in addition to the turtle crest displayed on his gi.

“Because of an accident, you said. Right?” the little boy pried.

“Accidents don’t make bad things okay to happen.”

“But you said he was gonna be okay,” Son Goten argued. “So it wasn’t that bad, was it?”

Son Goten held his tongue, and more of his energy pulsed out. The leaves lifted into the air away from his feet, and flocked together in fear as they reached the ground.

“And you didn’t mean to hurt Yamcha, right? Right?”

Son Gohan folded his hands behind his back. “I didn’t hurt Yamcha. I didn’t even touch him, hardly. I--”

“Then, it was Trunks’s dad? Did he mean to?”

Son Gohan’s hesitation hung heavily in the bamboo grove. “...No.”

A breeze whispered through the dry grove like the voice of a ghost.

Thalia noticed that Son Goten’s energy was growing in a compliment to his brother’s- except, instead of an erratic, suppressed pulse, it was steady and nervous, but uninhibited. “Are you mad at him? Are you mad at Uncle Vegeta? Is it because you said he was a, um, a pirate?” the little boy asked. “Or because he’s a Saiyan?”

Thalia crept closer, soundless despite the brush constructing her.

“Goten, we’re half-Saiyans,” Son Gohan said. His temper showed on his face like cracks widening in a fortress- the angle of his eyebrows, the curve of his mouth, the tautness in his forehead- as well as in the ever-present pressure in the air. “Dad was a Saiyan, too.”

Son Goku had been a lot of things to a lot of people, as Thalia understood it- a martial arts master, a prodigy, a hero, a father, a shape-shifter, a husband, a champion, a freak, a friend, an animal, a savant, a recluse, a conqueror, a savior, a legend. Saiyan was a new piece in the mosaic of the man whose shadow Thalia had been chasing for almost half of her life.

“Well, you get upset whenever anybody talks about Saiyans,” Son Goten said. “Do you wish you weren’t a half-Saiyan? Is it a bad thing?”

“It’s not a bad thing.”

“You say that, but you act like it is.” The little boy crossed his arms. “I can tell. I can feel it. I can smell it! You’re hiding something.”

“I’m not,” Son Gohan said. “That’s not it. I’m not lying to you, Goten.”

“Then why do you get upset whenever anybody talks about it?” the child insisted. “And why do you get upset when people ask about dad now? Do you hate him, too?”

“No! Never!” Son Gohan’s red and gold changshan floated on his body as it rode a burst of temper that rolled off his body. “I would never hate him! I only wish he were here!”

Son Goten flung his fists out on either side of himself and spread his feet wide, as if he were gearing up for a fight. “Why? What would he do if he were here? You and mom said he was always gone a lot anyway! You guys keep telling me that you always wanted him to be with you, but it sounded like he was always somewhere else!” The boy pointed at his brother. “But I don’t know him! I only know that I’ve never seen him, and I never will, but people keep sayin’ I look like him, and I’m s’posed to be like him! They say I am like him!” His arm shook, and he clenched his fingers back into a fist that sank to his side like a stone. “I’m s’posed to be just like him, but people still miss him, and you’re always mad.”

Son Gohan approached the child, slowly, carefully, and with both arms outstretched. “I’m not mad, Goten, I’m--”

“You get all scary!” Son Goten shouted, the glimmer of tears lighting the corners of his big, dark eyes. “You and mom get all scary and upset because dad isn’t here, and I don’t know how to do a good enough job of being him to make you not feel that way!”

Thalia felt more so than saw Son Gohan cut across the distance between himself and his brother before he pulled the child into his arms.

“Goten,” Son Gohan said. “We never expected you to be him. You don’t need to try. I’m sorry I’ve been acting like this lately. I’m sorry. I’m so, so, sorry. This isn’t your fault.” He brushed his brother’s hair with his fingers. “It’s not your fault. It’s not.” Son Goten kissed the top of his head. “It’s not your fault. It’s my fault. It’s always been my fault. I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I’m so sorry.”

When Terpsichore had first approached Thalia with the news of finding the firstborn son of Son Goku, the greatest of three disciples of the most revered of the living descendents of Mutaito’s teachings, she had been all too eager to learn as much as she could about him and ultimately meet him. Thalia and the Circle had set a course to crash into Son Gohan’s life like a meteor without another thought, and this was the resulting impact. It made her sick to her stomach.

“Mom and I love you just how you are, Goten,” Son Gohan continued, rocking his little brother back and forth as he began to wail. “You never need to be anything other than yourself. It’s okay. It’s okay. We love you so much.”

Son Goten, his arms swaddled in silk the color of the sky, reached around his brother and held him back, tightly.

“I’m the one who is failing. I’m the one who is supposed to take dad’s place. I am, not you. None of this is your fault. It has nothing to do with you,” Son Gohan said.

It was never any good to try and take the place of the dead for honor, glory, or the sake of tradition- Thalia knew from experience that such a thing only ended in pain, heartache, and self-loathing.

And, in Thalia’s particular case, it also came with a shortened lifespan.

“I love you,” Son Gohan repeated. “I love you so much! I’m so sorry I’m not a better big brother. I’m so sorry, Goten! I’m not a little kid anymore, but I’m still scared. Somehow, I am still scared. I’m sorry I’m not better than I am, even after everything. I just didn’t want to kill those people! I didn’t want to be responsible for that! And now, like always, someone is dead because I didn’t kill someone else first!”

If Thalia could possibly crouch lower to the ground and quelch her life energy down into an even more concealing shroud than it already was, she would. She wanted to talk to Son Gohan, but now was not the time- not when he was considering what it meant to take a life in return for a life. She thought of Melpomene, and how horrified he would be when he learned what his unconscious self had done, and how he might not ever be able to show it on the outside. Then, Thalia thought of Clio, and the strange package he had given her to hold on to.

“This is all my fault. I should’ve never left Mount Paozu, I shouldn’t have played hero, I shouldn't have,” Son Gohan’s voice broke, and then came back in a broken, strangled crescendo. “I shouldn’t have ever told myself that I could ever hide from this- that I could ever be human!” His shoulders shook beneath his brilliant clothing. The silk glinted in the light like dancing flames like the waves of gold that had flowed off him at the Tenkaichi Budokai, when his eyes glowed green, his words were thick with bloodlust, and Terpsichore had asked him what kind of beast he really was.

“Goten, I’m sorry,” Son Gohan repeated over and over in quiet tones.

Eventually, slowly, Son Goten’s tears stopped and his eyes closed. His head lolled against his brother’s chest and his little hands relaxed.

Son Gohan looked down at the little boy and stroked his cheek before pulling his sleeping body back into an embrace.

Thalia looked down at the dirt. Dark spots of water dotted the dried leaves beneath her. She thought of her own family, and whether or not she regretted allowing the people of her hometown to live despite poisoning their neighbors like rats.

Their tradition of ki practice had persisted almost since the time of Mutaito; there had been no reason to see Thalia and her family as a threat. In fact, in truth, Thalia had been the most suspicious of them because she had not wanted to train her mind and body in a way befitting of her family’s inherited surname. But somehow, it had been this same resentfulness of her family’s single great tradition that had kept Thalia safe from the scrutiny of her fearful village.

And then, of course, she had taken up the task of becoming the living embodiment of the collective knowledge of generations of martial artists. Their secrets could not die until she did, at least, but she had become exactly the thing her village had tried to stamp out.

What would she do, if the people who wronged her followed her in search of forgiveness? Were these situations even comparable? The Ox King’s death had been an accident in every way, whereas Thalia’s tragedy had been deliberate. She raised her head to look back to Son Gohan, and--

\--found him staring right at her.

His eyes cut through the grove like a predator’s claws through flesh, and glinted yellow-green like a cat’s in the dead of night.

The air was still and hot. It pressed down on Thalia like she were an ant held beneath the hand of a god. She could not move. How could he have known she was there? Her ki binding was flawless; there was no way he could have sensed her. Thalia dug her fingers into the dirt. She could not breathe. Son Gohan’s presence curled around her like a snare, and pulled tight.

Thalia was going to die. Here, by the hand of the only person that she thought might possibly understand her plight.

The Monkey King was supposed to ultimately triumph over the Red Boy in the stories, but Thalia did not have a deity on her side.

Neither of them moved.

Thalia’s grip on the earth tightened, and her breathing grew ragged. She could not do this. She was going to break, and either face him in a cowardly attempt to get it over with, or she would bolt in the naive hope that she could outrun him. She could feel it. Her tongue was thick and her lungs stopped moving and the dulled green of the plants suddenly brightened, and the sky was a blinding blue, and Son Gohan’s clothes shimmered against the scene in a wrathful scarlet, like he himself were a flame ready to consume everything, absolutely everything, and then--

Son Gohan looked away and stood up. 

He cradled his little brother against his chest with one arm, pulled his strange red staff up from the ground as it shrank to a reasonable size, and slid it back into the cloth sheath strung on his back. Then, he pointed to the piles of bamboo stacked parallel to one another.

“Pick those up,” he said, and strode out of the grove, his expression unreadable.

\---

The news was exhausting, and had an infuriating habit of skewing events. Bulma’s penchant for letting it play unmonitored in the living room grated on Piccolo’s nerves. Right now, though, the woman and her son were actually watching it, so Piccolo held his tongue and valiantly attempted to meditate in the corner of the living room over the volume.

Vegeta had made it very clear that he did not want Piccolo literally and figuratively hovering over him or his space. The burn from the bolt of energy the Prince had fired at the huge warrior still smarted.

As individuals, the Briefs and Vegeta were more infuriating than the Sons could ever hope to be collectively, honestly.

Dende’s voice floated into his head from all the way on the Lookout. “I miss Gohan and Goten, too.”

Piccolo grunted and sent Dende the telepathic equivalent of shut up- and then apologized for it a moment later.

Bulma’s voice carried over the television’s drivel a moment later with impeccable timing, and Piccolo could hear her bones move as she straightened her posture. “What? I thought Gohan went back to Fire Mountain!”

Piccolo cracked an eye open.

Trunks shook his head. “He did. That isn’t Gohan- he’s too short. And I can sense Gohan’s energy still- he’s not in Satan City. I dunno who that guy is, or why he would want to wear that dorky costume.”

Piccolo peered at the glowing television screen. The text scrolling across the bottom was gibberish to him, but the costume that the figure on the screen was wearing was almost identical to the one Gohan had chosen to wear to the Tenkaichi Budokai.

“Wait a minute,” Bulma said, launching herself off the sofa and nearly pressing her nose to the glass of the television, “That’s my suit! Yeah!”

“Yeah. It’s the Saiyaman getup,” Trunks said. “I wouldn’t get all upset about it, if I were you. I’d try and pretend like they decided on the outfit so that you don’t get laughed at.”

“No! Not that!” Bulma exclaimed, whirling around to look at her son while one of her delicate, manicured fingers stayed rooted on the impostor on the screen. “I mean the suits I sold to that pharmaceutical company- the prototypes, like the ones Vegeta broke when he tried to move them!”

“Oh,” said Trunks.

Just then, Bulma stood up and stormed towards the phone hanging on the wall by the door, her bright pink slippers slapping against her feet.

“Mom, where are you going?”

Bulma snatched up the receiver and rapidly dialed a string of numbers into it. “I’m gonna call that guy I sold it to and ask him what the hell is going on, that’s what!” She stuck the phone to the side of her face and planted her free hand on her hip. Her left foot beat out an impatient rhythm that made Piccolo grate his back teeth.

Then, Bulma cursed, ended the call, and then dialed again.

“It’s nine o’clock at night,” Piccolo said. “I doubt anyone will answer you.”

“What, because he’s asleep? What the hell is he, an old person?!”

“I do not know, Bulma. Maybe!” Piccolo shot back. “I’ve never met this person you are so fervently trying to reach.”

He earned himself a flash of Bulma’s pink tongue as she thrust it out at him, and then she cursed as an answering machine took her call.

A familiar sensation of frustration and emotion hurled by the window, and Piccolo leaned over to watch as it hid itself in the color of the night sky. Trunks followed suit. 

“Vegeta just left,” Piccolo announced.

Bulma stared at him, open-mouthed, as if the Nameless Namek himself were the one who had caused all of her problems. “And whaddaya want me to do about it?”

“I thought you would want to know.”

“Well, I--!” Bulma spluttered, her face reddening, “Dammit, why won’t anything just stay put for five seconds?!”

\---

In Satan City, The Great Saiyaman deftly evaded the pursuing media by taking to the air and weaving in and out of the winding city streets, making a point to cross over the bright rivers of light and packed crowds of the boulevards so that the news trucks could not dare speed after him. Soon, he became too tired to fly, and instead continued his journey by foot.

The neatly paved asphalt beneath his feet became uneven, and cracks appeared in the road as he journeyed farther and farther away from the heart of the bustling metropolis and closer to The Lucky Egg. His head was killing him, and his vision was swimming. Overexertion was a bitch.

Saiyaman tripped on a curb, and thanked his lucky stars that he was wearing that stupid orange helmet when his head met the cement.

“Shit,” he said, and opted to lie there on the sidewalk for a moment and close his eyes.

The next thing he knew, he was propped upright and his helmet was being pulled off his head. “Hey, what the-”

Sevoya Anillo looked at the unmasked Polymnia with eyes that matched her emerald earrings, and a frown. “I thought so,” she said.

“H-hey,” Polymnia said, grabbing her hands, “Your dad’s really worried about you.”

Sevoya frowned deeper, and with teeth. “I was going to help you get to wherever you were going, but I think I’ve changed my mind.” She slapped Polymnia and wrenched her hands away from him. He fell over ungracefully.

The motorcycle helmet landed with a thud next to Polymnia’s supine body. 

Sevoya watched him with an even gaze. “You can tell my dad whatever you want, but mostly tell him not to worry. I’ll come back. Probably.”

“Yeah, but where’re you goin’?” Polymnia said, groaning as he propped himself up on his elbows. One of them screamed from the bruising he had gotten the day before.

Sevoya shrugged from beneath her jacket, and then pulled up the hood. “To join the circus, obviously.”

“What?”

Sevoya snorted, and then smiled- but only for a fraction of a second. “You’ve been following me, right? So figure it out.” She turned on her heel and ran off into the darkness.

Polymnia struggled to his feet, and then fell to his knees when he tried to run after her. “Shit,” he muttered, his arms trembling as his eyes slid shut. “Shit…”


	32. King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Red Boy becomes King.

The kingdom on Fire Mountain was little more than a village topped with a ridiculously large castle, the disproportionate size and splendor between the two like something out of a pop-up book about poverty and overabundance. The surrealist magic it inspired read clear across Sevoya’s face as she climbed the hill to the gate, glancing left and right at the simple village with its dirt and stone paths breaking up the barely-there dried grass. The people of the village, mostly older, smiled and waved with one hand, and then used the other to cover their mouths as they whispered into the ears of their neighbor.

 

“Who’s she?”

 

“Dunno!”

 

“Her skirt’s awfully short- think she’s a gift for the new Ox Ki-”

 

“Shh! Hush your tongue! Our Ox King ain’t like that, an’ neither was his grandpappy!”

 

“Showin’ up on the day of his official coronation, mm!” One of the women shook her head. “Maybe she’s hopin’ to win ‘im over and be queen.”

 

“She better not! My granddaughter’ll--”

 

“Excuse me,” Sevoya said to the nearest gossiper, “but your Ox King. His name is Son Gohan, right?”

 

“Uh,” the woman said lamely, “yes.”

 

“And he lives,” Sevoya pointed to the palace painted in reds and golds and greens, like a mirage of splendour sitting on the side of the mountain, “in there?”

 

The old woman’s companion, the one with the granddaughter, put her hands on her hips and said, “Well, ‘a course he does, stupid floozy! He’s Royalty!”

 

Her friend gasped, scandalized, and Sevoya only nodded and looked at the castle again. 

 

“Thank you,” she said, and continued up the mountain. One foot after the other.

 

The gate and its imposing doors grew closer, and Sevoya expected it to fade away at any moment- but it did not. In fact, it only intensified in color against the landscape the closer she came. Fresh paint glimmered off the wood and stone. The gems in the eyes of the carved bulls and dragons gleamed at her with a new polish coloring their sparkle, like they were living creatures cursed into the structures and not decoration.

 

Sevoya stood beneath the imposing stares of the giant figures leering down at her- yet another gate, a gate full of demons, this time in the form of animals both real and not- for her to force herself through. She reached out her hand to take the left door knocker hanging suspended from the nose of one of the red-eyed bulls when the doors creaked and began moving on their own. Their gilded skin shimmered like water as they parted before her and revealed a courtyard of new plants and fresh white tile.

 

When the doors finally came to a stop, two figures stepped out from behind each- Mark Satan, blinking stupidly in the blinding sunlight and sweating under some sort of silk, and a compact figure hidden behind the mask of the Monkey King.

 

They stared at one another- Sun Wukong, the fallen champion, Sevoya, and the demons in the walls- like they might all disappear if any of them so much as blinked.

 

“Hey,” Sevoya finally said, lifting a hand in greeting, “I’m looking for Gohan and Videl.”

 

Mark Satan stomped forward with clenched fists. “P-people are looking for my little girl? Is it because of me?! How did you find us- how many are with you?! I- I gotta find Videl and hide, I--!”

 

The Monkey King flicked Mark Satan in the forehead, and he found himself planted in the dirt along with the grass. Then, she gestured to Sevoya to follow her across the courtyard and into the palace itself. Gilded flames licked up the sides of the inner palace walls, like Sevoya was walking straight into the mouth of Hell.

 

An open banquet hall greeted her. Two long, low tables with rows and rows of bowls and covered dishes upon them occupied the space, and another, smaller table stood perpendicular to them both to overlook the entire hall.

 

A child that looked exactly like the young Son Goku on the posters adorning the Anillo basement walls laid plates before each seat. He turned around and grinned. “Hello! Who did you bring with you, masked lady? Is this your friend?” He scurried over to Sevoya and her guide. “You’re not Dende right now, are you?”

 

“What’s Dende?” The word tasted foreign on Sevoya’s tongue.

 

“Oh! Nevermind. Dende’s just someone else that looked like you for a little while.” The boy bowed. “I’m Son Goten, Ox Prince of Fire Mountain! It is very nice to meet you.” Then, he peered up at Sevoya expectantly.

 

“You’re,” she said, “Gohan’s little brother.”

 

“Yeah! That’s me!” Goten said. “You know my brother? Are you his friend? Did you go to school with him? How’d you find us? Mom said people from his school aren’t s'posed to know we’re here yet.”

 

“It was a lucky guess,” Sevoya said, vastly understating the nights of research she and Erasa had done the week prior.

 

“Oh, well. Gohan’s gonna become the Ox King today for real, so I guess you should go see my mom and tell her you’re here.” He pointed to a doorway in the back of the hall. “She’s in the kitchen. She might be yelling right now, but don’t worry. She’s really nice when she’s not stressed.”

 

Son Chi Chi, the selfsame woman as the one in the photo sitting beneath Sevoya’s mother on the mantle of the Anillo household, arrived as if on cue, dressed in jade and gold. Sevoya wondered if her sister would arrive next, or her father, or her own mother, or even another version of Sevoya captured in her father’s many pictures.

 

“Goten!” Son Chi Chi scolded. “It isn’t polite to point!”

 

Goten hid his offending finger in his wide sleeve. “Sorry, mom.”

 

Chi Chi turned to Sevoya and smiled. “Oh, Sevoya! You must be hot and tired coming all the way here from the city!”

 

“I can help you cook,” Sevoya supplied instead.

 

“Nonsense!” Chi Chi waved a hand circled in green stones and gold bands. “You’re a guest! Come upstairs and Videl and I will find you something to wear.”

 

\---

 

The King of the World, Furry both in name and appearance, sat across from Erato at his grandiose mahogany desk. His jowls quivered beneath his thick moustache, and his triangular ears fought to not flick backwards above his head.

 

“Let me be frank,” the King said. “You’ve caused a public uproar and denounced everything the people hold dear with your schemes, all just to feel smug, dangerous, and important. I have no interest in working with you.”

 

Erato closed his eyes and swallowed the urge to act a cat in the face of a dog. “But was anything the people believed in actually true in the first place, your Majesty?”

 

King Furry’s lips turned upwards and revealed a flash of teeth- for an instant. “Are you accusing me of lying to the entire world, Mr. Zinfandel?”

 

“I’ve said no such thing,” Erato told him. “But what I do know is that some years ago, a human child with a tail and an unbelievable strength saved the world from a demon, and then disappeared into obscurity. And then, a group of warriors- including that same demon, and a man who resembled his killer, only without a tail and strange hair- reappeared and performed feats that the military could not- not even in Earth’s darkest hour.”

 

“That boy was a hero, and a bolt out of the blue. He appeared and disappeared, and that’s the last of it.”

 

Erato bit the inside of his cheek. “Human children with tails do not disappear unless they die a slow death all on their own, or are killed.” Or perhaps worse, in Erato’s case, but the world was not ready to know that. “Human children with tails do not possess the strength to fight the common cold, no less a monster. At least, not the ones born from this Earth’s mortal creatures. That boy and the man he became- I’m certain that the power they possess is--”

 

King Furry growled and straightened back into his chair. “You and all this nonsense about some quasi-religious power. I’ve never heard anything more ridiculous in my life!”

 

That did it. Something about the King’s show of aggression and his scent ground on Erato’s nerves more than it should. “The only _nonsense_ is your dogged assertion that a lone hybrid child with the inexplicable strength of an _entire army_ magically appearing to act as our deus ex machina is absolutely normal!” That, and the constant roadblock the King had indirectly proven himself to be during the entirety of Erato’s mission had chafed for so long that everything about Furry drove him over the edge. Erato felt like he was stuck in a science lab again- not the first one, but the second one- like he was back at the bottom of his own company whilst trying and failing to reason with his boss. “There are no healthy children born by interspecies couples- not because of the law preventing it, but by the _physical reality_ of it- and there is no weapon, augmentation, training, surgery, or _prayer_ known to man or Animal Person capable of giving any individual the level of power or ability necessary to counter a threat as absolutely _astronomical_ as Cell was, except perhaps- _perhaps_ \- what I am proposing to you!” He had not realized he was out of his chair and almost standing until he felt the wooden armrests in his clutches give beneath the edge of his nails. He tried and failed to make himself sit down.

 

King Furry remained seated, but his body and fur grew to give him height as he leaned forwards. “Mr. Zinfandel, your choice to spin conspiracy theories and embroil the public within them is not only irresponsible and a slap in the face of your nation, but by far a larger threat to the people of Earth than _anything_ you have been concerning yourself with!”

 

Erato snarled. “You are a blind fool if you think that is what I am doing!”

 

“You’re a _terrorist_ who believes in insane absolutes!”

 

“Extremist, perhaps, but I were a terrorist, you would _never_ have met with me at all!”

 

“You think I would be so afraid of a man with nothing but money and a loud voice?!” The King barked. “Your crackpot ideas are as fragile as your grasp on what power even _is!_ ”

 

This time, Erato did swallow his answering roar as best he could. It still came out at the edges of his words like blood seeping from an ugly, reopened wound. “I do not nor have I _ever_ claimed to bring forth to you an absolute, watertight truth, but rather the most plausible and reasonable explanation you have ever had for the dangers and miracles you face, and your best chance of _actually defending the planet against future crises! _How dare you do such a disservice not only to my Circle, but to your own people!”__

__

__King Furry was on his feet. “How dare you speak to me this way!”_ _

__

__“And how dare you think me so stupid to buy your scheme?!” Erato hissed back, leaning over the King’s desk to look him in the eye. “I _know_ you know something, too- you’re scared enough to humor me for information so you can cover your tracks once you hear what I already know!” His voice bounced off the walls and assaulted his ears where they were pinned back beneath his hair._ _

__

__The King’s ears flicked back, too, and his teeth appeared beneath his black nose and grey moustache, and stayed there. “You arrogant, disrespectful little _pup._ You have no idea what you are playing with, or who.”_ _

__

__Erato’s tail, already bristled and thrashing, pressed against the inside of his pants. “Neither do you,” he answered. “I’m only asking you not to run from it.”_ _

__

__The two of them remained locked in a battle of wills, the King’s pointed teeth bared and Erato’s hidden behind taught lips, until a soft, oblivious melody drifted from Erato’s pocket and danced around the room._ _

__

__It stopped, and then rang again. And again._ _

__

__Erato could have sworn that he had turned his phone off._ _

__

__King Furry pulled away and adjusted the collar of his suit. “This meeting is over, Mr. Zinfandel.” Then, “Get out of my office. The guards will see you out.”_ _

__

__And Erato did, the slow, dull thudding in his ears ringing out in tandem with his footsteps. His phone stopped ringing as voicemail took the call, and then suddenly started anew after a pause. Erato closed the door, pulled his phone from his pocket, and, after a long moment, he answered on the last ring._ _

__

__“Ahh,” came Clio’s voice, “Looks like your meeting didn’t go so hot, did it?” He snickered._ _

__

__“This had best be important,” Erato growled into the phone, and then nodded at the four men dressed in black suits flanking both sides of the doorway._ _

__

__Clio giggled again. “Oh, don’t sound so inconvenienced! You asked me to look into those suits you bought from the Capsule Corporation, right?”_ _

__

__“Yes, and?” Of course Clio would wait until after the moment Erato might have actually been able to use this new information to enlighten anyone with it._ _

__

__Two of the guards moved from their post to surround Erato and guide him down the blue and white hallway._ _

__

__“Well, I thought you might want to know that Polymnia took one for a test run a little while ago. He’s in East City. Who knew!” Clio’s raucous laughter oozed from the speaker._ _

__

__“What?!” Erato stopped for a moment and almost collided into the guard behind him. Polymnia was headstrong, clever, and driven, and one of Erato’s favorites, but combat was not his forte- nor was playing strictly by the law. “What is he doing?!”_ _

__

__“Well, you’d know if you were watching him prance around in his new tech on the news the other night. Miss Bulma Briefs sure did, and boy howdy is she spreading the word. She’s real pissed! Been callin’ you all day, if your voicemail was anything to go by when I tapped into your phone and made you look like even more of an inept, uncultured basket case than you’d managed to do on your own in that meeting back there. ‘Course, Miss Briefs might’ve known better than to sell her excellent inventions to a filthy animal, but, well. Live and learn!”_ _

__

__“Is Polymnia publicly making some sort of scene? Has he done something to put himself or his Circle in danger?” Erato felt a vein in his neck pop. “Did you put him up to some idiotic stunt? How long ago did you give him the suit?”_ _

__

__“Eh,” Clio said, smacking his lips and then sticking what was most likely a carrot between them. “I’m bored. I don’t wanna talk anymore. You can find out yourself.”_ _

__

__“Clio!”_ _

__

__“But when you get back, tell me- did King Furry say if it’s true that when his family made a magical wish on a magical dragon to become king, all it said was, “sit, stay, shake, and rule the world like a good boy?”_ _

__

__\---_ _

__

__The red latticework on the underside of the balcony roof mimicked the pattern of the red cushions lining the white floor below, but in reverse, and with a single clear aisle striping the center of the room. People- mostly older- kneeled on each one, all dressed in combinations of plain silk- except for the royal family and their guests of honor, who all wore patterns and colors of the brightest hues._ _

__

__At the front knelt Son Goten in sky blue, his mother dressed in gold next to him, and next to her was Sevoya in a robe like a crystalline pond with green leaves and white and pink lotuses blooming across it. Her green eyes and earrings flashed with each tilt of her head as she scanned the room, examining nothing for long, not even the elaborate gilded chair sitting empty before the crowd, nor the gong hanging from a frame made of the horns of an ox._ _

__

__“Oxen are a family symbol,” Thalia heard Son Chi Chi say. “My Daddy was the first one of them to rule here.”_ _

__

__“So it’s a title?” Sevoya asked, adjusting the ornaments hanging from her hair. “Is that why he wore the hat with the horns on it?”_ _

__

__“The horns didn’t come off,” Son Chi Chi said, shaking her head. “Those were Daddy’s horns.”_ _

__

__Behind her mask, Thalia echoed Sevoya’s dumbfounded expression, as well as the whispered outburst from Videl and Mark Satan on either side of her. “What?! But that’s impossible! Hybrid people don’t get that old!”_ _

__

__Son Chi Chi shook her head. “Oh, but Daddy wasn’t a hybrid nor an Animal Person. Daddy was just an ox who became a man.”_ _

__

__Videl almost slid off her cushion and lost a bun cover as she leaned further towards Son Chi Chi. “What?!”_ _

__

__Son Goten nodded and turned around. “Grandpa was an ox who wanted so bad to be human that he got turned into somethin’ close about three hundred years ago. But he kept his horns so he wouldn't forget his life as an ox.”_ _

__

__“Yeah, said Son Chi Chi, running a hand through her youngest son’s hair. “I thought Goku was a little like him, ‘cause of that tail. Turned out not to be the case, but.” She smiled as movement from somewhere caught her eye and she sat up straighter. “Here he comes.”_ _

__

__The gong near the back of the balcony rang out with a grand, shaking flourish. Videl quickly straightened up and folded her hands to sit alongside the cranes patterned across her legs while her father froze in place beneath his deep blue robe. Elsewhere, the older women who had pulled their cushions together to gossip among themselves straightened out their rows, and the room fell silent._ _

__

__One of the men beat a drum, and a younger woman picked at a lute._ _

__

__Son Gohan appeared in the doorway from the main palace, dressed in red and orange to rival the angriest days of the volcano basin peeking in from the horizon past the balcony railing. His outer robe trailed out behind him and across the floor as he strode down the center aisle and towards the waiting throne at the end. His expression was terrifyingly enigmatic, just as it had been when he had told Thalia she could stay here until she had a proper audience with him._ _

__

__Thalia wondered if they should trade masks, as Son Gohan’s might be the stronger one._ _

__

__She chanced a glance at Sevoya instead._ _

__

__The girl’s attention, which had been splintered into a million pieces from the moment she had arrived at the gates, had finally been captured- in fact, if Son Chi Chi had not put her hand over Sevoya’s in a comforting grip, Thalia thought she might have stood up and ran towards Son Gohan, ceremony be damned._ _

__

__Son Gohan must have felt the eyes on him, too, as he also gave Sevoya- and then Thalia- the quickest of glances and continued down the aisle, one foot in front of the other, and still without giving anything away._ _

__

__Soon, he reached the end. A doddering old man said something in a wheezing voice and placed a circlet of gold around Gohan’s head. Then, his audience bowed to him in a sea of rainbow silk, and he sat on the throne before the mountain- and finally it was done._ _


	33. By Any Other Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile, in East City....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are gonna have to go without the italics because I do NOT feel like coding them back in at the moment.
> 
> Thank you for reading and leaving feedback!

Polymnia felt like absolute, undeniable, unmitigated, utter, and complete shit. His head still hurt, his back still ached, his voice was shot, he could only actually see clearly out of one eye, and he was pretty sure he could hear his liver and kidneys screaming about the many, many strikes his torso had weathered in the past few days. He wished he were Thalia. Then, at least, this self-imposed punishment might actually make him stronger. Alas, no, he was not that talented at Inner Flame manipulation nor internalized, subliminal, understated self-loathing either one. No, Polymnia went big or went home, so both his unfortunately average ki and deep, secret, private inner world were proudly on display for all to see. Story of his life.

 

Hass plopped yet another bowl of soup in front of him. But of course he did! Polymnia had been eating nothing but soup for every meal for the past five days, after all. Why? For hydration and ease of digestion, he had been told. But really. Why? Why?! Why not, god forbid, they mix it up and give him a sandwich, maybe, and a jug of water the size of his head? Why soup? Why? Why every day? Why punish himself physically during the daytime, and then turn around and come back to this gulag, this mess of vegetables and noodles and whatever the hell it was, this--

 

“Minestrone,” Hass clarified, like he knew. He probably did know, actually. 

 

No, he knew. He definitely knew. 

 

Polymnia’s face said as much, if Earl’s laugh was anything to go by. “It got you into this mess, and now it’s gonna see you through it,” the lion said. “And guess what- it’s this week’s special, too, so it ain’t goin’ anywhere anytime soon- and neither are you!” He threw back his head and roared with more laughter.

 

“Th’ Hell I’m not,” croaked Polymnia.

 

Earl nodded. “You look like shit, man. The Great Saiyaman needs to lay himself low for a little while.”

 

Was he serious?! Did nobody else notice the kind of danger they were in?! “There,” Polymnia coughed and stabilized his cracking voice, “there’ve been, like, three bomb threats this week alone and one of them was even legitimate!” The end of the last word dissolved into rasping air, but he cleared his throat and made himself keep talking. “If I’m not moderating this shitshow, it’s gonna spread to my city and taint all the other people who know what the Inner Flame is with this destructive, terroristic, evil idiocy spawned by a-”

 

Hass’s demeanor changed immediately, like he was the sky caught in the very moment a thunderstrike shot across its surface and beget a forest fire.

 

Polymnia tried censored himself with a fresh coughing fit- but he was too late.

 

“A what?” Hass said, calm voice contrasting his huge, looming figure and tempestuous expression. “Spawned by a what? What’re you going to say about my dead wife?”

 

Shit. Polymnia glared at the innocuous bowl of soup steaming in front of him. You. You made me do this.

 

Earl winced. “Boss, maybe you oughta let it go. Dude’s here to help us, bottom line. What’s done is done. It’s over. She’s gone and this is what’s left, so--.”

 

“No!” Hass shook his head. “I wanna hear it. I’m sick of this. We’ve been dancing around this topic like a couple of ballerinas at a drunken square-dancing contest. If he has something to say, it’s time to damn well come out and say it.” He turned back to Polymnia. “You’ve got the gall to bust in here, live in my house and eat my food, and then vaguely presume to me that my daughter’s safe without actually telling me where she is! So what about my wife, huh?! What about Manaza? The Orange Star Circle was spawned by a what?!”

 

Polymnia looked back to the minestrone, to Earl, to Hass, and then back at the vile, detestable vegetable soup. “A,” he gulped, “nevermind.”

 

“A what?! I can’t hear you!”

 

“A suicidal,” Polymnia suddenly discovered that he did indeed have a talent for self-loathing as he found himself embracing the new punishment his back put him through as he sank into himself, “delusional,” his toe traced the grout of the kitchen tile, “vindictive,” he closed his eyes, “fatalist who,” Polymnia almost chanced a glance up at Hass but instead fell pathetically short of his face and focused on the cow grinning from his apron.

 

“Who what, twinky, what?!”

 

Polymnia hung his head. “...Who could give a shit what happened to anyone else.” The last words came out as the croak of a particularly upset and dying frog.

 

“Oh yeah?!” Hass challenged.

 

“...Yeah,” Polymnia affirmed, toying with the idea of succumbing to and gagging on his soup once and for all.

 

“Is that all, or do you have more you wanna say, you scrawny little impostor?!”

 

Earl dragged a paw over his face. “I don’t get paid enough for this familial drama,” he said. “Hass, c’mon man. It’s all passed. What’s done is done--”

 

“Obviously not!” the big man whirled around and towered over his sous chef. “If it’d really passed, the Tenkaichi Budokai wouldn’t have turned into a horror show, this city wouldn’t be on the brink of tearing itself apart, sitting in my house wouldn’t be like sitting in some twisted mausoleum, and I wouldn’t be piddlin’ around here wringing my hands like some poor, helpless little hostage while my baby girl is gallivanting off to God-knows-where chasing the one and only person who might maybe be her friend ‘cause she thinks I don’t get it!” He turned back to Polymnia, his dark eyes shining above his watery tears and his hands clenching and unclenching against his sides. “But I do get it! I do! I’m so sick of hiding from this! So what else do you want to say about Manaza’s mess, huh?! What else do you wanna scream about and pretend you even halfway understand?! Because I know about you, Julian Naan,” he spat.

 

And there it was. Polymnia silently cursed his big mouth for like the thousandth time in the span of two minutes and picked up his spoon. His reflection in its curved surface looked as thrashed as he felt. One eye was still the color of an overripe plum and his lips were split in at least three places. 

 

“I knew Polymnia was too pretentious to be your real name,” Earl muttered.

 

Yeah, well, Earl’s parents had the brilliant inspiration to name their son Earl Grey and the elusive Son Gohan the other Circles were so obsessed with was named for friggin’ rice, so the moniker Polymnia was hardly that weird- not that Polymnia said so, but he figured that the thought alone would score him the moral victory on principle.

 

Earl Grey. Seriously.

 

“Julian Naan- one of ten human shapeshifters ever, and the first person to have a successful corrective magical manipulation and simultaneous gender reassignment surgery and still be able to perform, hold, and recover from repeated, limited-time shapeshifting transformations afterwards.” Hass continued on. “Julian Naan, the greatest improbability of medicine of this century, and then who went out and utterly destroyed the entire entanglement of companies that very reasonably denied him coverage or assistance on his initial attempt at such an impossible thing- just to turn around and lead the next company that took over the wreckage you left, just because. You’d dare call my wife vindictive? Compared to you?” He slammed a hand on the table, and both Polymnia and his cursed soup spluttered and shook on its impact. “Your reputation’s so famous that a simple internet search can tell me everything I want to know about you and your exploits, mister Vice President of Muse Pharmaceuticals!”

 

Hass may have worsened Polymnia’s headache, skewed a few details, and undersold some of his exploits, but he had a point. Polymnia scooped up a spoonful of soup and shoved it into his mouth. 

 

Hass slapped the spoon away. “Put that down!”

 

Polymnia gestured, open mouthed, to his far-flung spoon and then back to Hass, and then back to his spoon. “You put it down here and tell me to eat it, and then when I try to eat it you tell me not to?! What is this,” a cough, “opposite day?!”

 

“No!” bellowed Hass.

 

“No?! And by no, do you mean yes?! So, yes?!”

 

“No!”

 

“Yes?!”

 

“No!”

 

“Yeah?!”

 

“ No!”

 

“Yes?!”

 

“No!”

 

“No?!”

 

“Yes!!”

 

“Yes! See, you get it!” Polymnia scoffed. “You shoulda said so from the get-go, ‘cause that’s what this is feelin’ like!” He punctuated his unevenly spoken statement with another ungraceful cough.

 

“Don’t you dare try and turn this around on me, you scrawny little weasel!” Hass roared. “Your weird ideology and stupid vigilante quest is funded and backed by Erato Zinfandel’s weird company cult- the same source as my wife’s, uh,” he faltered but then pointed his finger squarely at Polymnia with renewed conviction, “s-suicidal support group gone rogue! So don’t you go thinking’ you’re any less of a-a-a, uh, a weird, subversive radical!”

 

Bullshit. Erato had not had anything to do with the Orange Star Circle since before it had even changed names to the Satan City Circle. Granted, neither had Manaza Anillo, God rest her soul. But still.

 

“Perhaps I am, perhaps I’m not!” shot back Polymnia, rubbing at a kink in his back and immediately regretting his decision. “But regardless, here’s the skinny: what I do and did never resulted in a bunch of people dying! In fact, in case you haven’t noticed, I’m doing my best to ensure the opposite!” He crossed his legs and eyed his discarded spoon’s resting place on the floor. “Besides. I’m not allowed to use company money or PR directly for the Circle. It’s against policy. That’s why I’m playing superhero while the rest of my Circle does its damndest to keep East City together.” Wow, half of those words were just bastardized air, like Polymnia was the single saddest rubber duck ever to grace this earth. Speaking of, hopefully Sevoya wouldn’t get mad if Polymnia used up the rest of her bath bomb stash. Whatever brand she got was choice and he could go for a nice, fresh-scented soak.

 

“Oh, yeah?! Well--!” Hass hesitated. “W-wait. Policy? What policy?”

 

“Circle policy.”

 

Hass blinked. “M-Muse Pharmaceuticals doesn’t fund the Circle of the Inner Flame directly?”

 

“No. Why the hell do you think I’m moochin’ off you instead of sittin’ pretty in a five-star hotel and the highest grade of security paid for on the company credit card?” 

 

“F-for the anonymity and flexibility it provides?”

 

Hass was precious- and also, if Polymnia was being completely honest, not entirely incorrect- not that he’d admit it. “My man, I’m a shapeshifter. I can be as unidentifiable as I want at any given moment.” Polymnia gestured to all of himself, and then to his face. “How the heck do you think I can dupe the media at every turn as to Saiyaman’s identity and pass off this as uninjured every day?!” Just to drive his point home, he transformed into Earl and then winked at the lion. “It’s just like lookin’ into a mirror, ain’t it?” Polymnia hoped that literally any of that was intelligible. He’d have to stop soon- his head felt ready to split through his black eye and every word threatened to shatter whatever was left of his voicebox.

 

At least he still got his point across- the look on his double’s face was perfect.

 

“Y-you really--! You can--! This is crazy!” Earl gaped, and then put his muzzle in his paws. “Ohhhhh my Goddddd…! I should have quit while I was ahead and taken that cruise ship temp job!”

 

“Wh-what?!” Hass spread his attention thin between his horror towards his despondent sous chef and his outrage at the currently identical Polymnia. “N-no! No! No to both of you! Stop! I can’t deal with all this at once!”

 

“You and the rest of this planet, bub,” Polymnia wheezed.

 

The curtains hanging from the doorway to the kitchen suddenly breezed open and a boy with periwinkle hair blinked at all of them. “You guys are so loud! You’d think if you were tryin’ to hide an impostor superhero, you’d be at least a little more subtle about it.”

 

Polymnia opened his mouth to let some of his tried and true fast-talking get him out of this one, but all that came out was a dry, struggling gasp. Suddenly, the hot minestrone sitting in front of him didn’t seem like a total insult to his entire existence. He cut his losses, accepted this fate, reached for his spoon, and then remembered.

 

Fuckin’ Hass!

 

Meanwhile, the big man was taking charge of the current situation. He shuffled in front of Polymnia and clasped and unclasped his hands in the most suspicious way humanly possible. Earl followed suit. “S-Saiyaman? Wh-what about Saiyaman? Saiyaman isn’t here! Ha! We’re not hiding anything! No!”

 

For a split instant, Polymnia wondered if, on top of everything else, he was having an aneurysm, too.

 

The kid grinned with a leer in his eyes that was much to sinister for a boy his age to rightfully be able to pull off. “Ha! I never said anything about Saiyaman at all! So that is him!”

 

“Wh-huh?” Hass balked. “No, kid! That’s,” he paused. “Say, uh, have we met before?”

 

“Let’s not talk about me. Let’s talk about you!” The boy sauntered past Hass and Earl and grinned up at Polymnia. The soup got a passing glance- honestly, Polymnia was sure it was the devil himself, in a bowl- as did Polymnia, Hass, and Earl, all towards one another.

 

“Little boy, I really think you should go find your mommy and dadd-” Earl suddenly found himself being picked up with one hand by the very child he had been trying to shoo. The enormous Hass soon joined him in midair as the boy picked him up, too.

 

“Are you part of the Circle?” the boy asked Polymnia, suddenly juggling the lion and man in his hands. He snagged a nearby metal pot to add a third object to his trick. Showoff. “Do you know who I am? Do you know a girl named Calliope?”

 

Was the sky blue? Polymnia nodded and said, after a few false starts, “You’re Trunks. From the Tenkaichi Budo--” the rest wouldn’t come out. He coughed instead.

 

“Yeah!” Hass added.

 

“Alright, good!” Trunks stopped juggling. Hass fell neatly into his arms, caught the frantic Earl, and then the metal pan came down to sit neatly over the bewildered lion’s flattened ears and crown. “That’ll make this easier. So you were there that day?” He set down the now-embracing Earl and Hass.

 

No. Polymnia shook his head- that whole rigamarole had been the Erato and Terpsichore Screwed It All Up For Everybody show, though he had been wise enough to watch it crash and burn from his television and also smart enough to read up on literally all of the participants- though Trunks Briefs in particular was a name and face he would have to have been hit in the face repeatedly with the stupid stick to not recognize, especially since he’d had dinner with his mother’s entire family at some point or another in the many business banquets in his short career.

 

“You lyin’?”

 

Polymnia shook his head and pointed at Earl. “No. But he--” Alright, his voice had officially left the building. And that had been a really snappy, child-friendly response, too!

 

“You were amazing in the tournament!” Hass piped up instead, with stars in his eyes and Earl still trembling like a scared kitten in his arms. “I’m sure you would’ve won the whole thing if it hadn’t’ve been cancelled!”

 

Trunks blinked at Hass, and then swiped under his nose and put on a grin that told Polymnia literally everything about this kid’s ego that he really needed to know, had his Inner Flame not already clued him in. “Oh, yeah?” the boy said, and then snickered.

 

“Yeah! The only other person who stood a chance was Son Goku’s son! Wow, I would have loved to see that!”

 

Trunks basked in the attention. “Yeah, Goten’s pretty good. But I’m older, so I’d definitely win. I almost always do when we spar.”

 

“You spar together?! You know each other?!”

 

Trunks put his smug little hands on his smug little hips. “Well, duh. He is my best friend. Though,” he trained his crystalline eyes back onto Polymnia, “some stuff’s happened, so I don’t know how often I’ll get to see him.” He stuck a stubby finger into Polymnia’s face. “But anyway, back to you! Are you in charge of all these weird bombing incidents, or are you actually trying to stop ‘em? Why’re you pretending to be Saiyaman, of all people?”

 

Of all the times for Polymnia to be rendered speechless- when trying to explain a convoluted life-or-death situation to a dangerous, famous, and highly-connected child ki user who could seriously botch everything just as easily as he could blow them all to smithereens.

 

“He’s actually trying to stop them,” Hass said. “I wouldn’t be letting him stay in my house if he weren’t. I promise!”

 

Good Hass. Polymnia snapped his fingers, pointed at him, and gave a thumbs-up.

 

Trunks puffed out his cheek and squinted one eye at Polymnia. The room fell silent save for the soft hissing of the dishwasher and the constant thrum of the industrial refrigerator cooling away in the back of the room. Finally, the boy snorted and said, “Well, okay, you wouldn’t keep getting the crap kicked out of you if you weren’t trying to stop them, I guess.” He planted his chin in his hand and studied the floor with a critical, fixed stare. “But seriously. Saiyaman? That’s so lame. Literally anything else you came up with would have been cooler.”

 

Polymnia couldn’t really disagree, honestly, but the little method actor part of him still emulating Son Gohan stung at the criticism.

 

Trunks looked back up at Polymnia. “But also, how the heck were you able to copy the way Gohan’s energy moves?”

 

Hass’s face turned stony, like speaking the name was unleashing a Gorgon. “Gohan? Son Gohan?”

 

Trunks nodded. “Yeah. It’s how I narrowed my options down to this part of town. I sensed him out until he suddenly, uh, stopped feeling like Gohan.”

 

“So the real Saiyaman,” said Hass, eyes widening, “is Son Gohan?” Honestly, poor sap. Polymnia couldn’t believe he had not already put it all together.

 

Trunks nodded. “I mean, you’re too weak to actually be him, but in a normal, everyday situation, you would’ve fooled me.”

 

“So the guy who pulled my daughter out of that collapsing building,” Hass continued, stuck in his own little world, “was really Son Gohan this whole time?”

 

Earl snapped out of his shock and framed Hass’s stone-cold expression with both his paws. “C’mon there, Hass, come back to me!” He slapped the man’s cheeks. “Boss! Boss!”

 

“So anyway, how’d you do it?” Trunks’s bright eyes crowded Polymnia. “You gotta tell me! If you don’t, I’ll tell everyone who you are!”

 

Polymnia plopped his elbow on the table and stirred around his now-lukewarm soup with his index finger. Trunks was really gonna have to up the ante if he really wanted to persuade Polymnia to drag a child further into this mess.

 

Trunks scrunched up his face. “I’ll expose you not only as Saiyaman, but as a Circle member, as well!”

 

Like preventing that wasn’t the whole point of being a shapeshifting impostor. Polymnia wiped his soupy finger on the tablecloth and cradled his bored, aching head.

 

Trunks’s stare threw itself against Polymnia’s disaffected nonchalance for what felt like an eternity. Then, he grinned. “If you tell me, I’ll not only help you stop the Circle bombings,” he shot the tiniest bolt of energy into Polymnia’s soup to make it boil, “but I’ll get you a spoon.”

 

Exactly one spontaneous smoke burst later, and Polymnia was suddenly Son Gohan, fresh-faced and ready to eat some minestrone.

 

Trunks had no sooner opened his mouth in fascinated amazement than Hass erupted, and, with one flying leap that ended with his huge hands around Polymnia’s transformed throat, screamed, “I don’t care who your parents are! How dare you kiss my daughter, you stupid, lying, drug-addled, two-faced, wasteoid, disrespectful, troublemaking little snot!”


	34. The Delivery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter: Tienshinhan!

A long, rising scream heralded the golden-white supernova over the ragged plateaus and hills dividing the forest from the wasteland. Vegeta’s energy flared with it, and then collapsed on itself as the light slowly faded back into the rich, glaring orange of the sky as it slipped closer and closer to twilight. Tienshinhan’s third eye watched it with a bored, measured stare. The man himself let his frown deepen from where he stood overlooking the desert valley upon the highest plateau, arms crossed and a wide farmer's rice hat shading his face.

Vegeta had been sitting in this cradle of the wilderness for days now, throwing tantrums, as if whatever contraption Bulma had made for him at her Corporation was some kind of womb he’d finally exploded from- like whatever was roiling inside him was too big to be contained in such a small space anymore, and he had been born back into his anger anew. To be perfectly blunt, Tienshinhan had not expected such a long wait time before Vegeta succumbed to his old habits, but his jaded expectations had done nothing to curb the bitter, sour taste of dread and anger when Vegeta had finally surged and clashed with Gohan in the dead of night.

Yamcha’s face dredged itself up from the back of Tienshinhan’s mind. The man was too far away for Tienshinhan to pinpoint at the best of times, much less when he was swimming in the gargantuan ocean of power Vegeta was generating, but something about that constant absence had him on edge. It was a hunch, maybe- or perhaps just paranoia.

“Or maybe you can have premonitions,” Chiaotzu had suggested. “It’s not like either of us know what all the Three-Eyed Clan is actually capable of, anyway.”

Chiaotzu had a point, as he usually did, in that blunt, matter-of-fact way he had, but that had not stopped Tienshinhan from leaving him asleep and unaware on their farm. 

Someone had to be there in case Launch showed up in a frenzy, after all.

Vegeta’s energy plummeted back down to something more manageable and self-aware, and then he finally fell from his open, wide-armed pose down onto his knees. He shouted something across the barren, rocky land, and then brought his fists down to hit the earth like he was to beat out a rhythm on a giant, unbelievable drum. Tienshinhan took that as his cue. He hustled down from his perch and strode forward into the middle of the wasteland.

Vegeta called out to him before he was halfway to him, spit flying from his bared teeth as he scrambled back to his feet. “Are you just going to gawk, you three-eyed cretin, or do you actually have something to say?”

Tienshinhan snorted, and wisely bit back any retort about Vegeta letting him get a word in edgewise over the sound of his obnoxious screaming. “Have I caught you at a bad time?”

The sudden collision of enameled white on white in Vegeta’s mouth ground out a curse. “Smartass. You came here to mock me?” The hair on his neck stood on end and trembled in the breeze.

Shen and Tao Pai Pai might have, but their student had separated himself from their teachings long ago. “No. I came here to ask you something.” 

“Then ask it, and get out of my sight!”

Tienshinhan’s mouth turned down even further. “Since you’re so eager to get this over with, I’ll get straight to it- what were you and Gohan fighting over?”

Vegeta tensed like Chiaotzu when he was caught telling a lie about not spilling the milk or about planting the wrong bulbs at the wrong season when the harvest was poor. “Shut up,” he spat. “That has nothing to do with you.”

“It disturbed my and Chiaotzu’s rest, and scared the animals out of the woods and fields,” Tienshinhan said, his eyes narrowing. “I don’t appreciate that. I’d say that warrants some kind of an explanation.”

“Then sleep deeper and don’t concern yourself with the activity of animals far weaker than you,” Vegeta quipped, and waved his hand. “Now, leave. I don’t have time for your petty little brown nosing.” He turned his head, nose in the air.

Tienshinhan hated this routine from the bottom of his heart. It was like looking into some strange, short, hairy, princely alien two-eyed mirror. He could not stand it “No.”

Vegeta gawked, and then spun around with his fists in the air like he might strangle the atmosphere itself. “No?!”

“I haven’t brown-nosed to my satisfaction yet.” Tien straightened himself out. “What has you so riled up, Vegeta?”

“That’s,” Vegeta inhaled, and then his shout echoed across the wasteland again. “That’s none of your business, you mutant insect! I could have crushed all of your kind long ago, but I did not! Don’t give me a reason to do so now!”

It’s true that Tienshinhan was playing a dangerous game, but then, if he did not, someone else, someone vastly less prepared, would have to. “Oh, yeah? All of my kind?” He doubted Vegeta knew enough to differentiate between regular humans, Animal People, and those of the Three-Eyed Clan. “You think it’s right and just to punish the all for the transgressions of the one? Some prince you are. Maybe it’s a good thing you were never meant to be king.”

For a moment, Vegeta looked like he might have seen a ghost, but then his fist came hurtling towards Tien’s stomach so quickly and so suddenly that it could have been Tienshinhan’s own imagination that conjured up the whole conversation and left him in a blacked-out stupor.

\---

The atmosphere around the dinner table was among the most awkward Videl had ever experienced. Nobody was particularly hungry, either, save little Goten, who was shoveling food into his mouth neatly and systematically just as he did at every mealtime. His big brother, his only competitor in appetite ever, ate as well, although it was definitely subdued. Their chewing was the only noise in the room.

The seven of them- Videl, her father, the masked woman, Sevoya Anillo, and the three Sons- had been shielded from this kind of strangled, uncertain silence at the ceremonial banquet earlier in the day thanks to the chatter and address of the myriad of old country people feasting in the hall and making merry. Now it was night, the palace was empty, and nothing could shield them from one another’s tight-lipped trepidation around each other.

Videl bit her lip and examined her steamed rice. Why did Sevoya have to come here? Was it to laugh at the Satans? Did she come to gloat over how Mark Satan really was a fraud, and how stupid Videl was? Was she here to snare them into some kind of trap with the media? How did she find them? Did she always know Gohan was Saiyaman- because of course he was Saiyaman; any idiot in this situation could have figured it out by now- and came to laugh at how badly she had been played? Videl chanced a glance Sevoya, who was already looking at her and then blushed and looked away when their eyes met. So did Videl.

Some kind of light orange sauce covered her rice. The slice of red bell pepper sitting atop it was cut in the shape of a star. She looked around the table. Her father had two stars on his, and the masked woman had three. Chi Chi had five, Sevoya seven, Gohan four, and Goten probably had six before he had eaten them all. Weird. Maybe it was a cultural thing.

When Videl finally looked back up, Sevoya was instead busily staring at Gohan, who was coolly regarding the masked woman, who was avoiding his eyes and fixating on Videl’s father, who was busy marveling at Goten, who was very involved with his rapidly disappearing mountain of food, and then occupied by holding out his empty rice bowl to his mother and asking, “More, please!”

“Where does it, uh.” Videl’s father blinked. “Where does it all go? How can one little kid eat so much?”

Chi Chi filled the bowl, handed it back, and said, “Is it that strange for a boy to eat his mother’s food?! Is there something wrong with my cooking?”

Then, everybody snagged the nearest edible and shoved it into their mouths with great gusto.

Chi Chi nodded in approval, and then snagged one of the stars from her decorated bowl of rice and chewed upon it politely. Then, she cast a dazzling smile at Sevoya. “Sevoya, dear, we’re so happy to have you here for this special day! How is your father? He was so nice. And your mother? I did not get to meet her, but is she doing well?”

Sevoya’s expression stiffened into a smile. “My, um. My mom is dead. She died, um. The day of the Cell Games.” She turned to Gohan, like she was waiting for him to say something. His mother beat him to it.

“Oh! I’m so sorry,” Chi Chi said. “I must’ve forgotten! I didn't mean to upset you.”

“It’s alright,” Sevoya said. “I don’t remember if I told you or not. The day we met is all kind of a blur.” Videl noticed how her hands clenched and unclenched in her lap. “Oh, but my dad’s fine. Just doing the same old thing at the restaurant! You know, holding down the fort. Making a living.” More organically, she added, “Thank you for having me.”

“Of course!” Chi Chi grinned. “The future queen of Fire Mountain is always welcome!”

Sevoya’s green eyes widened. “Excuse me?”

“You’re my son’s girlfriend, aren’t you?”

That certainly pulled Gohan from his solemn trance real quick. “Mom!”

Sevoya looked into her bowl of red stars, like she could wish on them. “No. We’re only friends.”

Gohan shook his head, adamant.

“Oh? Is that what you city kids call it these days?” She chuckled. “What do you think, miss mask? And isn’t it rude to wear facewear at the table? Especially one like that!”

The masked woman dropped the piece of chicken she was furtively trying to shove beneath her Monkey King facade and into her mouth. It hit her plate with a spectacular splat. “I-I, uh, my face is too unsightly for a place like this! Yeah! I have, uh, horrible face herpes and it’s not pleasant to look at when you’re eating! Yeah! That’s it!”

“Ew!” Goten interjected between bites. “What’re face harpies?” Gohan shushed him.

Videl narrowed her eyes. She knew that voice. She thought she recognized her stature and way of walking when Gohan had first brought her in.

“Just take it off, Thalia,” Gohan said. “It’s fine.”

“Thalia! Hey, yeah!” Videl blurted. “You’re the one that- yeah!” She stood up and jabbed a finger squarely at the Monkey King mask.

“It’s rude to point at the table, Videl,” Chi Chi said. “Not that I blame you.”

Videl did a double-take and sat back down. “Sorry.” She glared at Thalia again as she removed her mask. “But you are the one that tried to kidnap me at the tournament.”

Thalia’s exposed face and unmuffled voice countered with an, “I took you back, though!”

“What?!” This time, it was Videl’s father’s turn to jump to his feet and point. “You’re a woman?! I thought you were a man!”

“What?!” Thalia leapt to her feet and drew her pointer finger, too. “And you’re a fake?! I never would have guessed!”

Chi Chi slammed her bowl down on the table. “What did I just tell Videl?”

The two of them sat back down, abashed. “Sorry.”

Chi Chi nodded. “Thalia. Your name is Thalia. And where are you from, Thalia?”

She froze in her chair. “I’m, um, I’m from a place in the Northwestern mountain area.”

“Oh? Does your family know what you’ve been up to?”

“They’re,” Thalia folded her hands neatly on the table. “They’re all dead. They were killed because,” Videl noticed she glanced at Gohan and Sevoya before addressing Chi Chi, “well. They died after the Cell Games.”

Chi Chi opened her mouth, and then closed it again. “I see,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not,” Thalia grinned, ruefully, and prodded at the stars on her rice, “it’s not your fault. There was no way you could have prevented the public’s sudden terror and resulting inquisition of ki users.” Her eyes drifted around to Videl’s father like she wanted to say something else, but didn’t.

Videl still felt her ears burning from it, even so. She stuffed a wad of orange rice into her mouth, smashed it into nothing between her teeth, and wished as hard as she could that this dinner was over, that she could punch something or someone, that her father had never lied, that she was stronger, anything. Instead, she pushed her chair from the table and snatched up her father’s empty plate.

“I’m finished,” she said. “Excuse me. I’ll do the dishes.”

Sevoya almost tripped over her teal robes and silken scarf in her haste as she rose to her feet. “I’ll help you,” she said.

Videl turned on her heel and did not look back. “I’ll do them by myself.”

\---

Fire Mountain was so hot that night that the moon would not even enter the sky. Sevoya fanned the collar of her silken robe and almost envied it. Space was cold, supposedly, and this place could do with a little bit of cold besides Videl’s icy reception.

Sevoya’s room had no central cooling. Nowhere in the palace but the kitchen did, for the freezer. She suspected that the only reason this was so had to do with how expensive it would be to run air conditioning for a structure this large. But the room was big, with a canopied bed and silken sheets and a quilt with white peonies embroidered on it. The dress she had worn earlier hung on a dress form in the corner of the room, like a ghost was standing in it and filling the fabric.

Sevoya turned her head and looked out the window. It was hot. She was thirsty.

She stood up and crept into the hall. She knew that to her right were more bedrooms, one of which Videl occupied, and the kitchen itself was somewhere to the left and down a few halls. Maybe. Standing there sweltering would solve nothing; she padded out into the hallway and journeyed forth. The carvings in the wood and gilded finishes watched her with unblinking eyes all along her path.

Soon, she was lost. It probably would have been smarter to wake someone up and ask for directions in the first place, but that would have involved actually speaking with them. Sevoya found that the only person she wanted to talk to was Gohan, who had barely said a word or given her so much as a glance that day.

He was busy. He was stressed. She should have expected this, really. He did not have the time or energy to spend with her.

Sevoya rounded another corner and found the main balcony overlooking the volcano, the same one where Gohan had been crowned king. She also found Gohan himself standing upon it, fully dressed, with his back to her as he looked up at the sky. The dull light of the distant caldera twinkled in the distance.

“I’m sorry about how dinner went,” he said as she approached. “This is an uncomfortable place, isn’t it?”

Sevoya blinked. “No, not necessarily. It’s just hot. I don’t know how you can still stand to walk around in that.”

“It’s a little toasty, yeah.” He grinned and turned around. “Once, this place was completely covered in a weird fire that never extinguished. I’m not entirely sure it still isn’t. That’s the curse of Fire Mountain, I guess.”

“Curse?” Sevoya asked. “That it’s hot? I thought that was just, like, because it’s near the equator.”

Gohan chuckled. “Well, that too. But it was set on fire as punishment for my grandfather’s arrogance and greed, I think.”

“Or maybe because he built it next to a volcano.”

Gohan laughed again. “That’s why it’s arrogant.”

Sevoya came closer. “Is arrogant a synonym for “not thinking ahead” in this context, or what? Because I don’t think that it’s arrogant- I think it’s just plain stupid.”

Gohan nodded. “I think you might be right. But… it’s not a good idea to speak ill of the dead.”

Sevoya felt the hot air settle turn to chilled water washing the color from her body. “I- I am so sorry! I didn’t mean it like that! I didn't mean to insult your grandfather! I-”

Gohan waved it away. “It’s fine. I think he’d agree with you. It wasn’t exactly a secret that he had a tendency to get ahead of himself. Honestly, that’s how everyone in my family is, in one way or another.”

“Even you?” Sevoya asked, joining him on the railing of the balcony.

“Considering the situation, yeah. I’d say so.” Gohan nodded. His black hair bobbed along with him. It was getting longer. Then, he said, “I’m sorry about your mother.”

“It’s not your fault.” Sevoya dug her fingers into the handrail. “In fact,” she started to shake, and she regarded Gohan with big, wide eyes, “I know you probably don’t remember, but I wanted to say thank you for walking me home through the crowd that day.”

Gohan mulled her words over. “That day? Was this at school?” He glanced at her feet. “Oh, you forgot your slippers!”

Sevoya pressed forward, hands at her sides, stepped one bare foot closer to Gohan, and grabbed the front of his changshan. “You had mourning clothes on, and a bouquet of white lilies. Were those for your father? Because I,” she started to breathe harder, “I was supposed to bring home the lilies from my mother’s casket that day, but I was so angry that I forgot!”

At some point, Gohan had thrown his arms around her and pulled her into a hug. His fingers stroked her hair, and he rocked her back and forth. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” he soothed. “I promise that one day I’m going to be able to make all of this okay for everybody.”

He smelled like their dinner and incense and fresh-cut bamboo, and held her like she might break if he so much as breathed the wrong way. She didn’t care that it was even more unbearably hot in his embrace- he was there, and he was listening. Eventually, though, Sevoya’s tremors subsided and she pulled herself more closely to him. “Were they?” she asked. “Were they for your father?”

Gohan shook his head against her hair. “They were not for my father,” he said. “They were for someone else who died then, too. I had just bought them and was about to take them to where his body was destroyed.”

“I’m sorry,” said Sevoya. “Did the monster kill them, or did…?” She choked on her words. Her necklace felt heavy around her neck. 

She had brought it with her, just in case.

“Yes,” Gohan said, after an eternity of silence. “Was your mother in the military, or a challenger, or someone absorbed from the nearby towns?”

“No.” Sevoya pressed her face closer to his neck. Finally, finally, someone was there who would listen! “She killed herself. With poison.”

Gohan held her tighter, and some heat entered his voice. “Was she really so afraid that she would leave her family behind rather than face whatever happened at their side?”

“I think, had I gone with her, she would have killed me too, first, before my sister. She killed my sister, and they went together. Or maybe I could have stopped her. I don’t know. But I shouldn’t have stayed with my father in the basement during the broadcast, or I shouldn't have let her leave. Or maybe not. I don’t know if that would have done anything. I don’t know. It was an act of defiance. She did it because of the Delivery Boy.”

Gohan stiffened, and his grip became much, much stronger. “What?”

Sevoya molded herself into it. “She left the room because they offered a child up to fight. We heard a thud when he started screaming and the broadcast cut off, and I so I went upstairs and found her. She could... I know it sounds stupid, since we aren’t martial artists or anything, but she could sense energy. Her father used her to place bets on the fighters at the Tenkaichi Budokai and other competitions. That’s how my parents met- at the Tenkaichi Budokai.” She closed her eyes and focused on Gohan’s heartbeat. It was speeding up. “When the Delivery Boy started screaming, I think he did something, and I think my mother thought whatever he did was actually Cell preparing to destroy the Earth, and she panicked. It was her last act of defiance, to die by her own hands.”

Gohan started breathing harder. His fingers bit into Sevoya’s skin, and the wind seemed to emanate from his body like his heart was hammering out a hurricane with each beat.

“Gohan,” said Sevoya, “you’re hurting me. Gohan?”

His muscles tensed, and Sevoya swore she heard his bones crack and his body rearrange itself under her arms. The ground started to shudder and shake, and a deep rumbling sounded from over the balcony.

“Gohan!” She tried to push herself away from him, but realized that she couldn’t- his grip was like iron, and his nails like barbs ripping through her clothing, through her skin. “Gohan!” Sevoya screamed. “Let me go! Gohan!”

The rumbling grew louder and louder, and suddenly a great something pushed out of Gohan and passed through Sevoya, like a demon had shot through her and punctured a hole in the center of her soul. The ground disappeared and a constant roar filled her ears, and then, a scream with no beginning or end until her ears started to ring. An explosion of flame lit up the earth below them, and then more and more appeared like Hell had opened up to dissolve and swallow the earth. The back of the palace began to crumble and fall into the caldera. “Gohan!” She screamed, and finally managed to push her torso away from him. “Gohan, it’s falling! We have to do something or Videl and your family--!”

But the person holding her hostage was not Gohan; he had hair of golden flame, not black of night, and green, soulless eyes set in a face too sharp, too unfamiliar, too cruel to be his. Light sparked and crackled around him, and the burning ash spewing from below swirled overhead.

Sevoya might have said something else to him, something strangled, but whatever it was faded out along with her vision.

The last thing she heard was a voice inside her head that was not her own, saying, “Piccolo, Piccolo! Hurry! The man sleeping in the northern mountains- he felt Gohan’s anger, and he has awoken!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I use blackouts as the transition ALL THE TIME, hahaa! I feel it's kind of appropriate for this kind of story, but even so. It's noticeable.
> 
> Anyway, now Broly is on the field and Sevoya's character is open and ready to be discussed and prodded with almost no holding back... not that this is particularly special, since she's an OC, but. It's special to me!!!
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	35. Postpartum

It’s cold, and everything was so loud, but not the kind of loud the boy next to him had been before they had been put to sleep; it was loud without actually making a sound, and so there was nothing he could break or cover or do to make it stop. Also, something long and thin was shoved in the side of his mouth and down his throat. It was uncomfortable and awkward, and the frustration of it all made him want to scream! So he did, and then, when his voice alone was not enough, he flailed his body indiscriminately. The earth rumbled as he thrashed. He screeched louder and pulled at the thing in his mouth because it was uncomfortable, and he hated it, he hated it, he didn’t know what was happening and he hated it, and when the annoying object snapped off in half his hands, he screamed louder and louder until he gagged and the rest of it came up.

It was a small and clear plastic tube. He screamed at it and slammed his fist into it. The resulting crater wasn’t satisfying enough, and it was still cold, and that noise-but-not-noise was reverberating all over him and funnelling its way into his head to box his brain, so he slammed himself into the ground harder and harder to make it stop. Instead, pieces of rock from above him rained down and shattered on his shoulders. It didn’t hurt- in fact, he barely felt it at all- but it wasn’t what he wanted, and he was hungry and cranky and scared and everything is dark and he hated it, he hated it, he hated it, HE HATED IT!

He smashed his arms into the ground, and it opened around him in a network of narrow, jagged slits. A cavalcade of cracking assaulted his ears from all sides as the world began shaking even more violently than before.

He screamed and smashed and smashed and screamed until the ceiling caved in on him, and then he tore into the rubble until he drew hot, glowing, red-orange blood from the earth that burned him, and he hated it! He wailed into the night and thrashed until his voice failed him and he forgot why he was even screaming, just that he needed to keep screaming.

Eventually, the heat of his tantrum faded away and left him strewn about amongst the dirt and ash and icy, scattered stars in the sky above. The ground had stopped bleeding and was scanning over, and so now he was cold again. Worse, he didn’t know where he was. He didn’t know why he was there. He didn’t know what that strange feeling of energy beating at him was, and he didn’t know how to make it stop. 

The wind was loud and laced with ice, and it assaulted his exposed body without mercy. He laid down, wrapped his arms, legs, and tail around himself, and shivered pitifully.

He curled into an even tighter ball and cried and cried and cried like the boy next to him used to do in the pod nursery until he felt something small and warm on his shoulder.

He jumped and twisted around to and find a puffy coat with a girl wrapped inside of it, her white hair almost as pale as her face and trembling hands.

Cautiously, she held out something covered in short fuzz towards him. He shrank away from it at first, but then, finally, he took it. Something about this girl was very soothing, even though he could see the whites of her eyes flaring out at him like the scientists on the outside of his pod’s used to do when they were scared of him. He held the thing in front of his chest. It stopped the wind from blowing so hard on his hands. He decided he liked it.

When the girl took it back, he complained, but then she draped it around his shoulders and put the edges of it in his hands to hold. Like that, the cold was a little less. He pulled it tighter around himself.

Then, the girl took his hand and tugged on it. She wanted him to follow her. He tried, and then stumbled and fell. He had never walked before. He had never even stood up before.

So he tried again and again, and eventually, he got it.

\---

Pieces of the palace fell away in chunks from the side of the mountain and into the mouth of the caldera like a star being sucked away into a black hole. A jet of fire shot out of the earth to punctuate its landing and herald more destruction like the cries of the damned as their judgement literally fell upon them.

Chi Chi scrambled up the other mountain far on the other side of the valley, still in her pajamas and with an elderly woman on her back. Close behind was Videl carrying an old man, and her father toting an elderly couple on his shoulders. Behind them was a stream of able-bodied villagers carrying whoever or whatever they could, and then Thalia bringing up the rear with her second load of miscellaneous odds and ends from the village strapped on her back and trailing behind her like a sled. Once they came to a level spot, Chi Chi took the opportunity to rest and take stock of the situation.

“How many’re left down there?!” she cried, her voice dry and rough. “And where’s Sevoya and Goten?”

“ I don’t know, and I don’t know where Sevoya is, but Goten went back down to try and get his brother,” Videl answered.

“What?!” Chi Chi pulled down the damp scarf covering her mouth and screeched. “And you didn’t stop him?!”

“How exactly was I supposed to stop your superpowered son?!” Videl stood her ground and let the other villagers pass her. Chi Chi conceded that Videl definitely had a point, but she wasn’t happy about it.

“What about Sevoya?!”

“I don’t know!” Videl said. Sweat plastered her hair to her face and glistened from her forehead. “I’m not exactly all-powerful, you know! I can’t even carry someone and fly at the same time yet! I’d try and sense her energy, but I can’t tell who anyone is with that thing,” she thrust her head towards the single glowing point sitting aloft above the cloud of smoke and ash settling over the mountain like the Red Boy himself watching as the Monkey King smothered in flame, “churning out energy like some kind of cataclysmic natural disaster made of ki! Gohan’s the one to ask that question. Where is he?!”

In the sky, churning out energy like some kind of cataclysmic natural disaster made of ki, but this wasn’t the time to tell Videl that. 

If Chi Chi was being honest with herself, the poor girl didn’t deserve to get roped into any of this. Neither of them did. Still, they were in it together, now.

Chi Chi replaced her scarf and soldiered higher up the mountain. “Get these folks at least to the top,” she barked out. “Then, we can see if--” she turned around and, suddenly, a man descended from the air in front of her like a being from another world.

He had part of his shirt over his face and a rice hat tied around his neck, but his third eye gave him away. He wasn’t exactly Chi Chi’s idea of an angel sent from heaven to save her, but he’d have to do.

“What happened?!” Tienshinhan exclaimed. “Why is Gohan doing this?!” 

That idiot. And people said Chi Chi was a blabbermouth. 

“Gohan?!” Both Satans exclaimed. “That’s Gohan?! And who are you?!”

“What?” said the old woman on Mark Satan’s shoulder. “Go home? But we can’t- it’s on fire!”

Chi Chi ignored them. “Don’t just startle me like that and then stand there and gawk!” she scolded Tienshinhan. “Go get the rest of the villagers and my youngest, before he does something stupid!”

“Youngest?” Tienshinhan blinked, all three eyes at once. “I thought you only had the one--!”

Chi Chi got in his face. “He looks just like Goku, spiky hair and everything. You can’t miss him!” she said. “Now go, ‘fore I lose my patience and make you do somethin’ even more dangerous!”

“Take me, too!” Videl volunteered, setting down her passenger. 

“VIdel!” Her father balked. 

“I’m trained to evacuate people from fires,” she said. “I can help you! Sevoya might still be stuck in the remaining part of the palace!”

Thalia caught up to them and paused in her ascent up the mountain. “She’s not in there. There’s nothing any of us can do about that.” Then, oddly, she bowed to Tienshinhan. Why she would choose to bow to a musclebound, reclusive, hairless hermit she just met was anybody’s guess. “I’m honored to meet you.”

Mark Satan turned white and shook Thalia by her shoulders, much to the dismay of his two passengers, who were shaken as well. “Did she fall in?! Did you see her?!”

“No,” said Thalia, pointing to the sky. “But I know she’s there.”

“In heaven?” Mark Satan started to tear up. “She was so young!”

“No, you afroed idiot! There!” Thalia pointed emphatically at the bright splotch of white-gold sitting above the ruined palace. “With the Sundr-- with glowy thing!”

“Huh?” Said Mark Satan. His makeshift blue chiffon face mask rustled over his lips at least disguised his open-mouthed bewilderment to a more bearable level rather than leaving it exposed for the world to suffer through. “I thought that guy said that was Gohan?”

“It is Gohan,” Thalia clarified. “He has Sevoya with him. Or, well, he did. I can’t sense her anymore, but that could just be because of the situation. Although,” she turned to Chi Chi, “he doesn’t have full control of himself when he gets like this, right? That’s what it sounded like when we spoke.”

“What?” said Videl.

“What I mean is, he only transforms into a Sundrop Child when he’s out for blood.”

Videl gawked. “He…? Blood...?”

In that moment, the world was vivid and vague all at once. Son Chi Chi saw red. How dare this Thalia partake in her family’s hospitality, after everything she had caused, and say something like that. How dare she imply that her son was a murderer. How dare--!

Tienshinhan stepped in front of Chi Chi. “You,” he said to Thalia. “You will go with me to find Gohan’s little brother, not the girl.”

Thalia blinked. “Huh? And enter into the thick of Ground Zero?! Are you kidding?! The last time I was around Son Gohan when he transformed, he almost killed me in cold blood! He might be civil to me now, on the surface, but he hates me! I can’t get near him while he’s like this! I’ll make it worse!”

Tienshinhan’s three eyes betrayed no emotion. “Maybe. Maybe not. But unlike that girl, I don’t think anybody here would miss you if anything did happen to you.”

Thalia smiled, almost, and slowly replaced her Monkey King mask over her face. “You’re probably right about that.”

\---

The tunnel connecting the Circle complex to the sleeping Goliath’s chamber had been utterly destroyed when the gargantuan man had awoken and split fissures into the earth, and most of the underground complex was likewise warped and caved in. However, the main meditation chamber remained mostly intact and structurally sound, and so the Circle hid inside of it like a hermit crab in the remnants of a shattered, sea-worn shell.

Every scrap of food and drink that the Circle could salvage from the aftermath of the disaster sat in a pile in the center of the room at the side of a bewildered, starved, human-shaped creature nearly twice the height of an average man and with long hair and eyes, both so dark that they did not actually have a color. His hands were large enough to hold a man’s skull in their grip and powerful enough to crush it, and he squeezed a winter melon apart in his hand as if to prove it before holding it up to his face and cramming the contents into his mouth, rind and all. His odd, furry tail peeked out from under the blanket he had draped over his body and flicked back and forth with no real rhythm as he got on his hands and knees and crawled closer to the pile of food.

Calliope tapped out a signal to the frightened Circle members standing at attention around their strange guest. “Make sure you open all the bags and cans before he gets to them. Don’t let him swallow any packaging by accident.”

After some hesitation, the Circle members moved towards the food and began to do as she asked. The tailed man complained at first, but then quickly understood when one of the terrified Circle members- Kalamatianos, called Kala- fearfully thrust the opened food into his face and inadvertently ended up feeding him by hand.

“He’s like a giant baby,” another one of the Circle, a girl named Sirtaki, remarked. Sirtaki had brown skin and jet black hair that Calliope had always loved to braid. “Except he… he eats everything!”

Exactly like a baby, Calliope agreed. The giant could neither speak nor understand object permanence. Calliope had left him in the room alone when they had first arrived, and he had panicked until someone had entered his line of sight again.

Sirtaki handed Kala a cured ham, who then offered it at arm's length to their huge guest. The giant man sniffed it, and then took a bite out of the side of it with a guttural noise of pleased surprise. He snatched it out of Kalamatianos’ hand and put the whole thing in his mouth, bone and all.

Sirtaki was quick to slap the giant on the back when he started choking, and luckily the crisis of his untimely suffocation by bone was averted. 

Calliope’s teacher stood on the outskirts of the scene with the stillness of a statue and the inner turmoil of an expressionist painting. “Calliope,” he whispered from between the fingers clamped over his mouth. “Why did you do this? Why did you bring him here, of all places?!” 

“He’ll get aggravated if he senses your Inner Flame fluctuating like that,” Calliope told him. “He can feel your fear.”

Terpsichore closed his eyes, clenched his fists, and began reciting the same song he always did when he got like this.

Her teacher had wisely evacuated everyone prior to the collapse, but twenty Circle members had been injured by the destruction above ground, and three of them Calliope really thought might die without something more practiced than Terpsichore’s offhand medical knowledge and muscle health expertise. Food was now an issue. Shelter was now an issue, too, and sacrificing either to a strange, unpredictable juggernaut was not the logical thing to do. But there was nothing they could really do about it right now, except hope that the town of Jingle was intact and friendly enough to offer any resources.

So, while her teacher had alternated between organizing a recovery effort and controlling his anxiety and wildly discharging Inner Flame when nobody was looking, Calliope had instead decided to find and silence the creature who had caused such destruction in the first place- at least, the creature closest to her. Son Gohan’s malevolence still rang out from somewhere in the distance like a hateful siren echoing across a far away ocean, beckoning for something he could destroy. It prickled at her skin and made her hair stand on end, but at least she was not nauseous anymore.

What she had expected the giant in front of her to be like, she did not know, but obviously not like this. In retrospect, it was probably better this way- Calliope had no business killing anyone or anything, nor was she particularly keen on making it her business, either.

The giant snatched an unopened can of corn from Sirtaki and popped off the lid with his thumb and forefinger as easily as removing a piece from a chessboard, and then dumped the contents into his own mouth. Kala still had to show him how to open the following bag of potato chips, though.

What were they going to do if he was still hungry after he ate everything they had?

Terpsichore averted his face. “I’m going to check if the telephone lines are back up,” he said. “I need to speak with Erato.”

\---

Gohan’s eyes glowed like two twin moons to replace the one that was hiding from the sky, and burned with a hatred that was not focused on the outside world, but inside him, and in the past. He sought something to destroy, something to use to pull whatever was stabbed in his side out of himself and sacrifice it in the name of his wrath, but there was nothing to hit, nothing to mutilate, nothing there that was actually causing his anger. He so full, and he had nothing there to empty his pain into.

Or, that is what his emotions told Dende, who used Sevoya’s mouth to try and talk him back to the present.

“Gohan,” he said, “It’s okay. Can you hear me?”

Gohan’s cold, green-white eyes leered down at him like he was an uncaring and distant god, like the supreme rulers of the universe written about in Dende’s scrolls that never spoke a word to him in his times of need.

“Gohan,” Dende repeated. “If you can hear me, please tell me your name.”

It took an eternity drenched in glowing gold, but eventually, he said, “Son Gohan.” He growled it like it was an inconvenience.

“Good,” said Dende.

“I’m not an idiot,” snarled Gohan, his sharpened features even more predatory than before when the white bite of his incisors shone beneath his lips.

Dende smiled weakly, and realized that Sevoya had been crying just before he had taken over her body. He wanted to cry, too. Dende made up his mind to meet her someday, face-to-face, and apologize. “Of course not,” he said to Gohan. “I would never think that. Do you know where we are?”

The light of his power flickered, for a moment. “...No.”

“That is okay,” said Dende, and he used Sevoya’s hands to bury his fingers into the red of Gohan’s clothing. The embroidery sparkled in the light like real flames, like the images of fire sewn across his body had become real. “We’re in the air above Fire Mountain.”

Gohan’s eyes searched him, and then something that wasn’t anger sparked behind them. “You aren’t Sevoya.”

Dende shook his head. “No. But this is her body. I am Dende. Is that familiar to you?”

Gohan, still caught up in the latent aftermath of his rage, took longer to answer than Dende would have liked. “Yes.”

“I am glad,” he said. “Can I touch you?”

“What are you going to do?”

“Touch your face,” said Dende, “if that is okay.”

“No,” said Gohan. “I’m too angry for that.”

Dende swallowed and nodded. “Alright. Alright. Do you think- that is, is it okay- if we go to that mountain over there and lower back on the ground? There shouldn’t be any ash in the air over there, and it will not be so hot.

Slowly, carefully, Gohan looked between Dende and the mountain. “There are other people there. I don’t want to talk to them.”

“You do not have to,” Dende soothed. “Not now.”

Gohan thought about it, and then eventually did as Dende suggested. The heat clawing at their legs faded away and a cool breeze of the night took its place, playing with the edges of their robes and Sevoya’s bare feet. The raw energy radiating off Gohan’s body pulsed and passed through Dende like a heartbeat that could pierce his body.

Somewhere between the two mountains, Gohan remembered himself with a gasp and almost dropped Dende. The white-gold cast of his hair left him like an ember extinguishing from a stone, and the two of them fell down as if through water to the bottom of a lake- but Gohan caught them both in the air halfway and wrapped himself around Dende.

“What have I done?!” he cried. “I never meant- I never meant for any of this! Dende, what do I do?! How many people- how many people’s lives have I managed to ruin?! I thought it was the right thing- I thought it was over, if I just did whatever it took to kill him!” He started to wail, and his energy returned, less than before, in an anguished yellow spiral before it snuffed back out again. “What do I do now?! I don’t know what to do! I don’t know how to exist with the rest of this world!” His hands buried into Dende’s back, and he shuddered. “Dende, I thought I was doing the right thing but I’ve somehow managed to ruin absolutely everything! Why?! Why am I always such a failure?! Why?!” 

“You are not a failure,” said Dende, running Sevoya’s fingers through his hair and pulling him closer. “You are not. You are doing your best.” Then, “I believe in you absolutely, Gohan. I would not be here if I did not.”

The two of them touched the ground gently, like a leaf hitting the ground in the fall, and with their arms still around one another. Gohan wept bitterly, his new tail trembling in the darkness in the absence of the moon like a newborn left to fend for itself in the wilderness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, you guys! Thanks for reading this far.... like, if you in fact did.
> 
> I don't think there's any real interest on this story on this site so I'm considering not posting it here anymore. I mean, I might keep putting stuff up just out of habit since I dual post to here and ff.net anyway- I don't really know- but just in case back it up if you have any attachment to it (and if you do, I'm so flattered!)
> 
> Either way, thank you for sticking with me so long and for giving this a try!


	36. Terpsichore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Terpsichore and his own personal demon meet again.

“Terpsichore!” Erato’s voice came out even more frazzled than he intended and surely pierced through the phone line and into the wind dancer’s ear like an arrow in the side of its kill. “Are you alright?! What’s happening?” He gripped the handrail of the hotel balcony tightly and ignored the way his regrowing claws fought to extend from his nail beds.

Terpsichore’s voice on the other end was quiet and riddled with static and uncertainty. “The Circle base itself is destroyed. Three are… possibly terminal.”

“What about Jingle?! Can’t you take them to Jingle? Or is it not standing? What happened?! The continent's been split in two down the fault line! The earthquakes haven’t reached the west yet, but the expected damage…” Erato swallowed and shook his head. “They’re going to evacuate us soon. The King will want answers- what happened?! What was that energy I sensed?! What did you do?!”

Terpsichore’s end breathed static.

“Terpsichore! Answer me!”

The dancer’s voice came back small and frightened. “What should I do?”

Erato held his tongue.

“I can’t stop making barriers,” Terpsichore said. “The burn of his Inner Flame makes me start making barriers again, and they aggravate him. It’s like when I was a child. I can’t stop. I can’t protect Calliope like this. I can’t help anyone like this.” He took a shaky breath. “He can smell my fear,” he said. “Both of them can smell my fear.”

Erato looked out over the skyline of Central City, though he wasn’t really seeing it beyond a mass of color and light brought about by the setting sun. “Who, Terpsichore? Who are you talking about?”

“Son Gohan, and… and the giant.”

The pit of fear in the bottom of Erato’s stomach grew heavier. “Clio’s sleeping discovery?” Of course. Of course Clio must have done something to the man- he had a tail, so Erato had figured he was no discovery, not really, but rather another of Clio’s hybrids planted there to make trouble when the time was right. Still, he never thought it was possible that anyone or anything could have such power! As for Son Gohan, well. Erato felt his hackles start to rise. He might be a hybrid, but not of a human or an Animal Person.

Erato could see him, suddenly, standing in front of him as a child wreathed in gold and screaming in a wasteland so loudly that he shattered the earth by way of his anger alone. The sudden energy coming from the south- that was Son Gohan. He could see it clearly, now. This was what Terpsichore and Thalia had tried to warn him about. “Where is the giant now?!” Erato started to sweat.

“He’s eating,” Terpsichore said. “Calliope said it would keep him from throwing another tantrum.” His breathing grew shallow. “He’s eaten almost everything we have so far. He--!”

A sudden fit of pained screaming broke through the line- at first one voice, male, then a female, and then another deeper, louder, more animalistic sound, like a beast crying out from deep in a cave full of terrors to drown out everything else. Terpsichore broke back through the line, “Kala! Kala! Calliope, stay back! He’s--!”

“Terpsichore!” Erato demanded. “What happened?! Terpsichore!”

The screaming grew louder and more crazed, and then the line went dead.

\---

Before he knew what he was doing, Terpsichore grabbed Calliope and dragged her away from where the giant sat thrashing amongst his pile of food wrappers and detritus.

“He didn’t mean to,” signed Calliope, frantic. “He didn’t see his arm, and the screaming upset him!”

Terpsichore looked over to where Kala lay on the floor where the giant had kicked him aside. He held his bleeding arm tightly to try and stop the bleeding, but Terpsichore could see the white of bone shining through the bloody indentation of the giant’s teeth that he could not hide.

“My arm!” Kala screeched. “He bit me! My arm!”

The giant screamed louder and threw his hands over his ears as he thrashed. His body started to glow with a sinister light that pulsed like a heartbeat before fading away.

The room began to tremble.

“Get out!” Terpsichore commanded, his barrier sparking around he and Calliope. “Everyone, get out!”

The giant hollered something unintelligible and stared at Terpsichore with inflamed, red eyes.

“Everyone out!” Terpsichore hollered again.

“Stop screaming!” Calliope tugged on his robe and signed. “And put down your barrier! It’s making him angry!”

Terpsichore knew he could do neither, even if he had tried. The white roaring had entered his ears and eyes and his body moved as if on a jittery, inconsolable autopilot. “Get out of here,” he told Calliope, pushing her away. “Get everyone out! I can’t- I can't stop, so let him follow me!”

The giant struggled to his feet and screamed at Terpsichore like an animal about to charge.

And then, at an impossible speed, he did.

Terpsichore whipped up the wind around himself and changed the giant’s course, but barely- he shattered Terpsichore’s barrier and clipped him in the shoulder, which was enough to send the dancer flying into the wall.

The next thing Terpsichore knew, the giant was upon him, throwing his fists wildly among the dust and grabbing for Terpsichore blindly. The dancer dragged himself away, threw up a new barrier, and shot handfuls of Inner Flame at the Goliath to try and deter him, but he only succeeded in making the giant angrier. He clawed through the dust and energy and, grabbing Terpsichore by the leg, slammed him into the ground repeatedly like he was nothing but a doll. Crimson blood spurted from between Terpsichore’s lips and joints.

He forgot all of his training and smashed a ball of Flame into the giant’s eyes, and then scurried away the moment his leg was released, a new barrier in place around himself as he foolishly cowered behind a pile of debris and locked himself into the nearest corner with his face pressed between his knees as he curled up around himself.

The giant screeched with an agonized rage and crumbled more of the ground beneath his feet, and then gave a new cry as a second great source of Flame entered into the cavern and clashed with that of the giant. Explosions sounded throughout the cavern with more screams, and then, suddenly, the Giant’s energy faded away and the noise died down.

Terpsichore dragged himself from his hiding place and peeked out over the destruction and dust filling the ruined room.

Goliath laid panting and sleeping on the ground, and above him stood the Demon King Piccolo, winded, bleeding, and with only one arm peeking out from his ruined shirt. He spotted Terpsichore and grunted, and the dancer slipped back into his childhood nightmares and wet himself before running far, far away into unconsciousness.

\---

The King listened to Erato’s story without interruption, this time.

“A man with a tail caused this, you say?” He finally said once Erato was finished and the clock on the wall had moved the minute hand in a full rotation.

“In the north, yes,” confirmed Erato, examining his whitened knuckles.

The King nodded once, twice, and then took a long drink of the whisky sitting at his side. “I see,” he said. The ice in his glass clinked together as it settled back on the desk. “Mister Zinfandel, have you ever heard of something called the Dragon Balls?”

“The old fairy tale?” Erato asked.

King Furry looked up at him with old, tired eyes. “Some fairy tales are true,” he said.

\---

Leif never had any parents. Or, rather, he did, but they were not very memorable. They left him in the care of an orphanage when he was small enough to forget them, and so he did. They were probably poor, superstitious, and dying from some tragic story of starvation and the pains of an unplanned pregnancy and ensuing delivery of a child of ill omen. And, if they indeed were everything Leif supposed them to be, they weren't wholly incorrect about the last one.

Leif's first known home had always been sparse and old, but the silences from the other children and nuns made it lonelier and larger, as if the walls might grow like weeds and swallow Leif down at the bottom, where the stares pinned him and smothered him like waves rolling over the body of a castaway. 

"I know why his parents gave him away," the nuns would say, when they had nothing else to talk about besides the failings and peculiarities of the most unpopular child in the village. They poured whispers on Leif like it was water, and he drowned in them. "I know why nobody will take him. He's not human! He's a devil- I'm sure of it! Have you seen the odd things he can do? It's witchcraft. It has to be witchcraft."

In turn, the other children gossiped about it, too, and threw it in Leif's face like it was gospel when they had nothing more exciting to talk about besides the failings and peculiarities of the most popular novelty, and yet eternally unpopular child, in the orphanage. In their defense, there was rarely anything else to talk about, and even if there was, it was not half as interesting as their preoccupation with Leif even if they had shared or participated in perpetuating this same fascination surrounding him one hundred and five times before. 

But Leif did have a penchant for doing very strange and unexplainable things, and a church orphanage in a village too far from the city to be a suburb but too populated to be an outpost hidden in mist and myth needed something to chew on that had any flavor whatsoever if it wanted to pretend to differentiate itself, even if that flavor never changed. And so, for all the grief it brought him, Leif was famous.

But fame never changed the fact that adult and child alike were afraid of him- it enhanced it, really- and so Leif lived much of his childhood perpetuating his strangeness by crying in a sheltered cocoon of his own making. It shimmered like glass caught in the light, but held firm with the absolute resolution of iron. Leif could do things like that, and more- he could glow beneath a cloudy and moonless sky. When he was scared, he could jump higher than any human had any right to. And he always knew when to put his cocoon up, because he always knew when people were close, or when they were mad without speaking to him, or when they were excited but he couldn't see their faces. He didn't know how, exactly, but he did. 

A rumor eventually spread that Leif could trap people in his ethereal cage and suffocate them, and that he could read minds- neither of which was actually true. Once, a man took a chair and almost broke through Leif's shell with it when the boy sat in his vegetable garden to hide. He called him a demon, a menace, a freak- the usual- and told the whole village all about it. The names stuck, and soon even the people outside the orphanage called Leif by these new names and made a game of chasing him off. Then, strange wanderers began to appear and made it a point to bother Leif and touch his barrier, or worse, try and talk to him.

Leif got better at making cocoons, and also swore off hiding in vegetable gardens.

Story of his impregnable cocoons traveled on the tongues of Leif's stranger visitors, and when the Wind Dancers blew through town with the sole purpose of taking Leif with them, no discussion, half of him wanted to trust them and leave right that moment without telling anyone, and the other half wanted to learn how to suffocate creatures in his cocoon so he could suffocate himself instead of falling into the hands of a new set of people to hate him as they traveled to places where other people would undoubtedly hate him, too, all while he was ostensibly stuck doing work that was probably illegal for a child to do, anyway. However, Leif could not smother himself, the orphanage handed him over, and the choice was made for him.

Once they left Leif's village, the entire company of dancers created cocoons of their own, at least one of each in every color of the rainbow, and then suddenly blew them away in a gust of wind- all of them, including Leif's. He cried out in surprise at the display, but did not spin his cocoon again.

"Those people were idiots," Dance Master Yew had said. "With enough electricity, luxury, and influence from the city, they so easily forget that sometimes humans are perfectly capable of miracles, and the world has so much more in it than they know."

Leif had turned white. "Do you live in the wild? I don't know how to make my own clothes, and I don't like pooping outside." 

Master Yew had quirked an eyebrow and thrown out a capsule that exploded into a bus. "The world is big enough for miracles and technology, little leaf. We're going home now to a place where people don't attack you for making barriers in their unkempt, ugly, failing gardens."

The rest of the company had picked Leif up and sat him on the bus, and asked him about his favorite foods and animals and if he wanted any juice. Instead, Leif had forgotten his words and had grabbed onto the sleeve of someone's robe and cried the whole way to the conservatory because nobody had ever been that nice to him. He had been almost four years old.

From that day on, Leif learned to create the wind, move it, and move with it. He was taught how to breathe and think so that he did not make himself hide in a barrier and live life in a scared bubble.

When he was seven, Leif was good enough and confident enough to perform with the company and travel across the world during tour season. When he was nine, the Wind Dancers were invited to perform for the King of the World and educate him about their art and the way they used energy. 

Except, on May the Ninth, the day Leif was to perform, the Demon King cast his shadow over the capital and destroyed the Wind Dancers with the aftermath of a single, thoughtless blast to the buildings when he captured the King. He killed them all- all except Leif, who could make the strongest cocoons out of his fear to block out rubble, but not the darkened silhouette of demon- a real demon- stalking through the capital and laughing all the way. Leif had run, then, and not looked back.

Those without Inner Flame may have called Leif a demon, but they had no idea what the real thing was like. They were fools, and they were cowards, and they refused to even consider how frightening the truth really was.

Eventually, Leif found a new home of people who could accept and break through his barrier cocoons and Terpsichore was the name they gave him, but the Demon King never left his heart, not really. He lived in the edges of Terpsichore’s mind when he tried to fight, or in his nightmares, ready to take away his Calliope, Thalia, and everyone else in the only home that could ever accept him, but Terpsichore always closed him out and escaped again when he awoke, if even only for a little while. Son Gohan had worn his face like a mask for a moment, and so had Vegeta, but Terpsichore had seen through the disguise and escaped them, too.

But when he awoke this time in the ruined town of Jingle, the real Piccolo had found him again with his deep, red eyes, and this time, there was nowhere to run.

“Don’t pretend to be asleep,” he said to Terpsichore, his voice deep and unforgiving. “I’ll know.”


	37. Opinions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vegeta arrives

Calliope was a natural at telepathic communication and Piccolo had to admit he was pleased with how quickly she had mastered it, even if the only person she would ever be able to use it with was Piccolo himself, or perhaps Dende.

“Should we wake him?” Calliope asked, pointing down into the crater and at the giant Saiyan’s unconscious form. 

He was on his stomach, unconscious, and twitching his fingers and tail in response to the merciless cold engulfing him. When he rolled over and curled into a ball, Terpsichore in particular bit back a shriek.

“After you perform your little sealing technique on him, perhaps, unless you want your dancer to carry him.” Piccolo side-eyed the sulking and swollen Terpsichore from where he floated in midair, covered in bandages beneath his oversized coat and paler than the tiles covering the Lookout floor. The Nameless Namek felt some guilt over dragging him out here from the bed in Jingle, but not much. The moment Calliope left his side, he was sure to cause trouble with his already-reluctant hosts. Not that Piccolo could not begrudge the villagers their misgivings- Jingle Village was in shambles, one half covered in avalanches and the other half cracked open and riddled with trenches through roads the villagers might have otherwise used to evacuate. Only those quick enough to recover their homes in their Capsules and lucky enough not to die when the ground beneath them began to explode had anything to their name, and the villagers were wise enough to know that Terpsicore and his Circle had something to do with it, even if they did not know exactly what. Calliope was the sole reason that any of the Circle members had any support from Jingle whatsoever. Somehow, she convinced them to negotiate with her and secured aid for all of them from East City, despite the fact that she could not speak and Piccolo understood normal humans to rely very heavily upon speech to communicate. Her affinity for Piccolo’s abilities was also very interesting. However, Calliope’s talents were a mystery for another day.

“He is already asleep,” Terpsicore said of the giant. “His body is relaxed. The Inner Flame bind would prove futile.”

Piccolo frowned deeper. “We need him, and we need him docile.” The mysterious Saiyan had been beyond sloppy in his combat, but he was strong- unbelievably strong- and incredibly dangerous. His erratic movements had cost Piccolo an arm even though the Nameless Namek had initiated the fight with the upper hand and caught him by surprise.

“You need him? For what?” Terpsichore demanded, his mind clouded by both anger and fear. “To make him angry again?! To use him to destroy humanity?!”

Terpsichore’s accusation stung in a way Piccolo couldn’t describe. He suddenly remembered a toddling, baby-faced Gohan crying in the wilderness until he suddenly transformed into a beast that rained destruction onto the landscape. “No. But from what I know of your Circle, wasn’t that your intention?”

“No!” Terpsichore answered, his expression enraged and a light barrier flashing in and out of vision around himself along with a gust of wind. “Not remotely!” His outrage buzzed plainly in the air, and Calliope stepped closer to him and reached for his hand. He calmed some, and his hair flattened back down against his head. “Our mission is and always has been to seek the truth and reveal it to the world! This man is, in a sense, our hope to prove how energy can flow through men in such a way and with such volume that we can be anything! My kindred and I had no intention of causing wanton destruction! We never did!”

Piccolo snorted. “Is that so?” Terpsichore may be honest enough to get himself into trouble, but he had inadvertently caused this unnecessary mess in the first place. “You have a strange way of showing it.”

“You would dare lecture me on destruction?! On needless loss of life?!” Terpsichore’s barrier was back, as were the gusts of wind buffeting at Piccolo’s cape and skin. “You would say this to me?! You?!”

The Nameless Namek leered down his nose at both Dancer and student. “If you keep that up, you will wake up the man sleeping down there, and without anything to subdue his strength. Do you want that?”

Terpsichore flinched and withdrew. After a moment, he cursed and slunk away, a hand over his mouth and the other balled into a fist. Calliope let him go.

“You killed his family,” she said. “To me you just look like a big green beanstalk with pointed ears, but to him you're the worst possible person who could have appeared.”

Piccolo looked back to the giant. “If he can’t get over it, it’ll get him killed.” He grew annoyed with himself when he realized how that must have sounded. “By the giant, I mean. I don’t plan to kill him, though I’d certainly like to give him a kick in the teeth for starting all this trouble with Gohan.”

“Do you know Son Gohan? Does this man also have something to do with Son Gohan? Do you know this man?”

Piccolo quibbled with himself about trying to explain to Calliope the ins and outs of a complete answer. Instead, he said, “No. Gohan and I do not know him. He has the same habit as Gohan of inflicting terror when he’s angry, though.”

“He was scared when he woke up and I found him,” said Calliope. “When I brought him here to the Circle hall, he tried to hide under his blanket and behind me from our kindred.”

A toddler bawled in Piccolo’s face from somewhere in his distant memory, and then suddenly slammed him in the stomach in a bout of utter frustration and then lit a ball of ki in his face just for good measure. “He’s exactly like Gohan. Wonderful.” He glanced up at the night sky, just to be safe. It was a new moon. He released a breath he had not realized he had been holding.

“What do you mean?” Calliope had no sooner asked than a cry suddenly rang out with the whipping wind and was then abruptly silenced behind them.

Vegeta, dressed in his blue and yellow space armor like the day he had died on Namek, stood with his hand clamped over Terpsichore’s mouth and one of the dancer’s arms bent at an unnatural position. “Piccolo!” He greeted. “It seems you’ve gotten rusty, if I was able to sneak up on you so easily!” His nose and cheeks were flushed from the cold, and the fog erupting from his mouth spilled forth like acrid smoke from the mouth of a fire-breathing dragon.

“What are you doing, Vegeta?!” The Nameless Namek tried to compose himself- how had he not known Vegeta was coming?!

The Prince grinned. “I knew if I made myself obvious, this little bastard,” he twisted Terpsichore’s arm, “would go running and squealing off to somewhere much less convenient for me to teach him a lesson.”

“Put him down!” Piccolo snapped. “He’s not the problem here!”

Calliope pumped her arms emphatically and stomped her foot.

“What, you think you can order me around?! And what do you mean?!” Vegeta countered. “This imbecile and his friends- don’t think I’ve forgotten about you, girl- made me look like an idiot!” His sneer turned into a sharp-toothed frown. “They targeted my son! I’ll not forgive that so easily!”

The snow piled in drifts around Piccolo’s feet as he planted them wide and dug his heels in to push off and engage at a moment’s notice. “That has all passed. They won’t do it again- and we have a bigger problem if you start showing off and bullying these people here, of all places. There is another Saiyan sleeping just behind me, and it’s not in our best interest to wake him up just yet!”

“Saiyan?” Calliope asked.

A wicked glint entered Vegeta’s eye, and he dropped Terpsichore into the snow like an old, unloved toy. “So the source of the great explosion here in the north was a Saiyan?” the Prince asked.

Internally, the Nameless Namek cursed his big mouth. 

Vegeta stalked closer, his footsteps gouging into the snow like the marks of a set of fangs exploring their kill. “Then I say we should wake him up and see what he has to say.”

Calliope dove in front of him and stood her ground in the face of the Prince. Her white hair flew free from her hood like it was a part of the snow spiraling around them.

“He can’t even speak yet,” Piccolo supplied for her. “He looks like an adult, but from the sound of it, he had never left the space pod he landed in until today. He was probably sent here as a baby.” He exercised thoughtful caution before adding, “Like Goku.”

Perhaps he did not exercise enough of it. “That much power, from an untrained child?” Vegeta stared so long and hard that Piccolo thought his ears’ assurance that his heart still beat was wrong, but then suddenly the Prince burst into raucous laughter. “Kakarot was so weak, they assumed they would need to send two babies to this miserable little planet just to clear it! Hahahaha!” He strode forward once more and pushed Calliope out of the way. “Move, girl. I’ll deal with you later.”

Calliope responded with a set of pointed, glowing fingers and an expression that could, as Gohan once said, make milk curdle. But Vegeta was faster, and he put a knee in her stomach before she could strike and then kicked her away. “Annoying little brat,” he muttered.

“Calliope!” Terpsichore called out, still gathering himself up from the upturned snow and frozen earth. “Calliope!”

Piccolo dashed across the snow and caught her before standing before Vegeta at his full height. “Do not do this, Vegeta. Not now,” he warned. “You can fight him later, when he’s trained enough to put up a good fight for you. As it is, he does not even know how to create energy blasts or fly.”

“Well! I’d say it’s the perfect time for him to learn, then! Wouldn’t you agree? It’s best to start children when they’re young!” Vegeta grinned, though it did not suit his face. Piccolo felt inexplicably dirty. “Especially now, when the alienation period spent in his pod is fresh, even if his body is fully grown. Nobody has had time to ruin him and raise him like a human would. He hasn’t been ruined like Kakarot and his children were. That’s why under Frieza’s reign we separated them from their mothers and put them in pods in the first place, you know! We remember the pain of isolation, and it gives us the anger to fuel our strength. Saiyan infants remember quite a bit more than these humans do, you know, even if they can’t talk!” He sidestepped Piccolo, but the old warrior grabbed him by the arm and turned him around again.

“Waking him just to incite more destruction is pointless and idiotic, and I won’t allow you to wantonly cause chaos.” Piccolo said. “What about your own son? Hasn’t he been raised by his mother, amongst humans?”

“Trunks is different.” A crack appeared in his psyche, but Vegeta still shoved Piccolo off. “On whose authority do you deny me, anyway? Do you actually think you can boss me around?!”

“Authority has nothing to do with it- it’s for the good of the planet and the safety of the people on it,” the Nameless Namek asserted. “Though, since rank is so important to you, you have no idea who I was to this planet and what I am, do you?”

“Nonsense. You’re a Namek.” Vegeta sneered again. “A scared, green Namek.”

“The wise consider fear an advisor, even if they don’t always listen to it.”

“So do the weak- except they always listen to it.”

The two of them held one another’s gaze while the wind cut across the landscape around them and roared.

“I am his Prince, and I want to see him,” Vegeta decided, and trudged to the crater’s edge with his arms crossed and head held high, his breath clouding the air around his eyes and his ki steadily, dramatically, and recklessly rising until his hair turned gold and his eyes flashed green.

\---

She didn’t remember much about the specifics of it, but in her dream, Sevoya could hear and see her parents arguing. The basement was dark- abnormally dark, like someone had taken her memories and rubbed at the edges of them so they smeared together into a muddy black. She couldn’t speak, either. 

“This is ridiculous,” her mother said, her soft voice abnormally hard and forceful. “You expect this?! You expect me to sit here and watch them sacrifice children to that monster and pretend it will do anything?! This may be a televised mess, Hass, but this is real. Can you still not feel it?! That monster, his energy is smothering me, even from here! This is happening! He will die! And I cannot sit here and watch that! I can’t endure having some sick farce be made of our lives anymore!”

“Of course it’s real!” Sevoya’s father was standing. A moment ago he had been sitting across the room, anxiously leaning towards the television with clasped hands in front of his face. He had been thinner, then. “But whatever happens, I believe those people- the boy, the Demon King, all of them- they’re defending us as best they can, and we should respect that and see this through until the very end! We can’t run away from this!”

“Then accept the reality of what’s about to happen and prepare yourself!”

“This is how I choose to do it!” Hass was suddenly at the stairs, calling up, but then both of Sevoya’s parents were arguing in front of her again, and then embracing somewhere else in the room at the same time for a split second.

“Sevoya, come with me!” her mother called. “You don’t have to stay here.” For a minute she was in Sevoya’s face, and then on the floor with her sister in her arms.

“Be brave in your own way,” said Sevoya’s father. “You can go wherever you want.”

Sevoya instead looked at the television screen. A boy with golden hair stared back at her. Suddenly, he was Son Gohan, and then he was screaming, and then holding her face hostage in his hands while the room smelled like ash and burning, and then everything started to crumble.

Sevoya opened her eyes to a chorus of adamant cicadas. The ceiling was made of wood, like a cabin, and the sheets underneath her smelled unfamiliar.

This was not her room in Satan City. This was not her room on Fire Mountain, either. Gohan’s face appeared in her mind again, and she shot up to a sitting position and choked back a scream.

She was alone, and the stars were out.

A second bed on her right was covered in stuffed animals. Several were teddy bears, and more were dragons or dinosaurs. More lined the top few shelves on the wall, along with an assortment of thin books, like children’s books or Elementary readers, and then on the next set of shelves the toys disappeared and the books grew progressively thicker and thicker. On the opposite wall was a desk piled high with papers and even more books, and a single action figure peeking out in the ambient light in front of the smattering of framed photos crammed together in the space.

Sevoya stepped from the bed and pulled one of the pictures from the shelf with utmost care, like it might break if she so much as held it wrong. A boy about nine or ten years old with a gigantic smile and a head full of long, unruly black hair stared back at her from between Son Chi Chi, the Monkey King Son Goku, and the Demon King Piccolo.

Sevoya couldn’t quite comprehend what she was seeing, honestly, so she put down the photo and backed away from it with her head in her hands. Perhaps she was still dreaming.

Then, she heard a voice emanating from the open door in the corner of the room. It was soft, but she recognized it from somewhere. Yes, it was the same voice she had heard in her head at the tournament and the one from last night. But this time, the voice was not inside her head, but outside of it.

Was that a good sign? Was that a bad sign? Sevoya had no idea. But she crept to the door and peeked outside of it.

She was at the top of a short flight of stairs overlooking a living room. In the darkness, the furniture was all the same color, but the shape of each piece told Sevoya that almost none of it matched. The kitchen table sat beyond, in an alcove that surely led to the front door. 

A small movement drew her eye. She noticed two figures huddled together on the couch and traced by the ambient starlight, and one of them spoke with the voice that had been speaking inside of her head.

“You do not need to go confront them yet if you are not ready,” the owner of the voice said.

The second figure was Gohan. “Ready or not ready, it doesn’t matter. Someone has to do something, and I think I’m the only one who can.”

“Why do you always think that? Think that you are the only one?” Gohan’s companion shook their head. “It is poison you have fed yourself since you were a child. You are not the only one. Vegeta is there. Piccolo is there. They should handle this, at least for now.”

“They won’t.”

They were quiet for a long time. Sevoya realized she could hear the crackling of a fire outside, somewhere, between the call of the cicadas.

“Gohan,” his companion said, reaching for his arm. “Please do not do this to yourself.”

Gohan shook his head and pulled away. Sevoya could see the side of his face carved out by the light, but his expression was a mystery. “I’m tired of talking about this. Change the subject.”

After a few agonizing moments, Gohan’s companion said with a voice like glass, “It’s May 18th. That’s your birthday, isn’t it?” Their hands clasped one another. “Happy Birthday, Gohan.”

Gohan looked over at his companion, and then, in the face of Sevoya’s palpable surprise, snickered. “Of all the topics you could have picked, you went for that one?” He chuckled. 

“It made you laugh more than the others would have.”

Gohan snorted. “Thanks, Dende.” Then, he angled his head differently, and Sevoya could practically feel his eyes on her. “You’re awake,” he said. “How do you feel?”

If Sevoya wanted to say something, her words were too busy choking her to come out.

Gohan continued on anyhow, as if he could somehow read her mind. “Yes, it’s true, I was the boy you saw on television that day.” He stood, and then bowed. “If you are upset with me, that’s fine. You don’t have to come down, and you can leave whenever you like. This is my house and you are welcome to anything in it.” He bowed lower. “I have to leave now. Thank you for being kind to me at school and for trusting me with your story. Please pass that message on to Videl, as well.” Then, he rose to his full height and left through the door beyond the living room and into the night.

What Sevoya could only describe as a tail lingered behind him, and then slipped out the door, too, and left her alone with his hooded companion.

“My name is Dende,” they said, dipping at the waist. “I apologize that we had to meet in these circumstances. I know you will need some time to wrap your head around this, but please know that I do not nor did I ever bear you any ill will. I hope that you can find it in your heart to forgive me as well for possessing you.”

Sevoya found a light switch on the wall by the bedroom door and clumsily flipped it on. The sudden light tore at her eyes and made her head throb, but she pushed through it. “Take off your hood,” she demanded. The stranger was in a white robe with a blue and purple embroidered scarf wrapped around their head and draped down their shoulders.

“I am not sure that is the best thing right now. My face will surely scare you,” Dende said. “Perhaps after you have had a moment to recover-”

“Now,” demanded Sevoya, and she dashed down the stairs, her hands raised and teeth clenched. “You will show me now! What kind of monster are you?!” She slapped Dende’s hands away and tore away the scarf.

Dende’s face was not human. His skin was a pale, smooth green, like he was coated in gossamer spring leaves gently layered over one another, and his lashless eyes were rimmed with iridescent black skin above features that were too smooth and eerily uniform to be human, save the even, shallow ridges circling around his face and then repeating in larger rings over the back of his head. His ears were pointed, and above where his eyebrows should have been sat two thin, curved horns, like the trademark of the Demon King Piccolo.

Sevoya backed away from him, her lungs too afraid to draw a breath, and then ran back into the bedroom and bolted the door behind her.

\---

Gohan winced at Sevoya’s spike in energy and fear, but silently reaffirmed that his presence would only make it worse. He tiptoed to the side of the house away from the line of sight his brother or the Satans potentially had on him over in Son Gohan Senior’s little hut and the villagers huddled by the fire outside of it.

The flying Nimbus hovered over the ground expectantly, right where he had left it, but it had gained a passenger. 

Gohan quietly gave himself a pat on the back for not slaughtering a human who was apparently pure of heart- Thalia sat cross-legged on the cloud like a monk deep in meditation, or like Piccolo when he napped. A small black box sat in her lap. “Hey,” she said. “Take me with you.”

“No,” Gohan said, and put his hand on the Nimbus to yank it out from under her.

To his horror and surprise, his hand fell through.

“See? The cloud likes me,” Thalia said, sticking out her tongue. “Being pure of heart is a state of being that changes moment to moment, not a permanent schtick. But seriously. Take me. I can sit on the cloud and release my energy as we travel.”

Gohan narrowed his eyes. “So what happens when you fall through when we’re halfway there?”

“Won’t happen. I’ve risen above my hatred of Hercule Satan.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah-huh. Take me with you.”

“No.”

“Yes!”

“No!”

“Yes!”

Gohan felt his tail start to lash behind him and the hair on his neck stand up. “Don’t antagonize me right now! Did you just conveniently forget the kind of situation you’re in?! I could kill you for any reason at all, and there’s nothing you can do about it!”

“Yeah,” said Thalia, “And then you’d probably never be able to ride this cloud!”

“Believe me when I say that you and the Nimbus do not see eye to eye about the nature of murder.”

“Oh? Hm. Oh well. Either way, I’m going with you.”

Gohan scratched violently at his neck and slammed his tail into the ground. It made a sizeable trench in the earth. “If you’re so determined to go, you could have left already.”

“Nope. Can’t. Can’t fly right now. This cloud still sees you as its master, too, even if you can’t ride it, so it won’t let me just take it without your permission, either. Right, cloud? Right.” Thalia nodded, and the Monkey King mask strapped to the back of her head knocked against her skull. Gohan found her attachment to the stupid mask rather annoying. She was a literal monkey on his back. “Anyways.” She opened the box in her lap. Inside was a set of what looked like bracelets. “I don’t know how you feel about accessories, but I am told by a pernicious and wildly capricious source that these can subdue a person and their ki. Like our Twin Fangs did to Vegeta, but you can remotely control how much they’ve got and the wearer can’t break out of them.”

“They can control ki? They can subdue it?”

“That’s what I was told.” She reached into her shirt and pulled out a rounded, tear-shaped pendant. “Comes with a matching controller. Yours for the price of ‘I’m reprehensible enough to keep a ki slave’ and ninety-nine zenicents if you call in the next ten minutes, operators standing by.”

The silver circlets glinted temptingly. Gohan reached for them. “Can one use it on themself?”

Thalia snapped the case shut. “Look, I don’t even know for sure if the thing even works. I just thought it might be good if you were aware that I have it. Besides,” A glint entered her eyes. “Calliope and Terpsichore are stuck up there with whatever that thing was, assuming they’re still alive. I’ve got to help them, and I am willing to bet a solid amount of money I don’t have that I am gonna need your help with that.” She paused. “Your pal Vegemite is up there, too, but somehow that doesn’t make me feel better.”

Gohan mustered up the will to sound outraged at her assertions, but instead, he said, more truthfully, “Vegeta’s presence is rarely a relief to anyone, but every once in awhile he’ll surprise you.”

“You feelin’ surprised, Red Boy?”

Gohan opened his mouth, and then closed it. “No.”

“How do you know him, anyway?” She narrowed her eyes. “I mean, I’m fairly certain he’s not human. He’s not human, is he? No man would intentionally keep their hair like that, even if he had a Napoleon complex.”

Gohan rubbed at his temples. “I’ll take you with me if you stop talking. Okay?”

Thalia made a motion to zip her lips closed.


	38. Where All Roads Lead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All about the fissure splitting the continent.

The animals had been the first to know.

 

Seventeen knew the earth had been moving, somewhere- his sensors would never let him ignore something like that- but when the animals began to panic and the geysers exploded rather than erupted, he knew something was horrifically wrong. It blindsided him totally, and even when he racked his brain for what he should have or could have done, he came up with nothing- nothing but a hole and destruction where his home in Saffrock National Park used to be. He hadn’t exactly been thinking about it when he had taken off for Satan City to find a phone and some help, but he should have known better than to think it would be intact. 

 

Satan City was in shambles. From the air, it looked like the skyscrapers had fallen like dominoes upon one another when the earth beneath the eastern side of town had opened wide and swallowed building after building after building like a hungry monster gorging itself on disaster. Bent metal frames and broken windows watched him like faces with vacant, tortured eyes melting in the focused light of the unforgiving afternoon. Most of the landscape was the color of dust and dirt, and the city’s dwarfed, sparse trees laid upended or all but fallen among the rubble, just to finish the picture. 

 

“The same earthquake,” he said to himself. “But why this big? And how?”

 

Seventeen came closer to the wreckage, and then finally touched down on the rubble with a defeated sigh. He was an absolute no-talent for searching out signs of human life within disaster that was not by their hands. In fact, he could track exactly two things: animals and trespassers, and he was in search of neither. Seventeen fiddled with the compass in his pocket and looked around.

 

He spotted the telltale brown-red rust of blood drying on broken glass, and after a frantic and fruitless search through the immediate buildings, wished he could learn to sense life energy instead of being left to discover nothing but vacant and mangled corpses for his trouble.

 

Once, he had been accused of harboring a desire to turn the entire world into this. Seventeen had been an angry young man once, sure, but this was beyond him. He tied his bandanna around his nose to block out the smell, and moved again to the streets to call out for anyone at all.

 

There was no one to call back to him, except the torn smiles on the advertisements and the empty confidence of The Savior of the World’s face peeling off the buildings, like the world had finally figured out he was a joke and decided to set the record straight.

 

Finally, finally, he found two figures standing atop a mangled grocery sign- a child in a superhero costume and a young man in a motorcycle helmet and a red cape. They stood on a heap of rubble like two crooked flags in the aftermath of a battle. Seventeen hurried towards them, and then cursed as his pants caught on a piece of frayed metal and held him back. 

 

But this was his only pair, now. It wouldn’t do for them to rip.

 

Meanwhile: “Hey, Saiyaman!” The child slung a trash bag full of something- Seventeen guessed frozen peas, though he couldn’t back up his assertion- over his shoulder and adjusted his black mask.

 

“Yes, Vigilante Awesome? What is it, my trusty sidekick?” Saiyaman flashed a smile and a thumbs-up.

 

“Call me sidekick one more time and we’ll see who’s really the stronger of us,” the boy threatened beneath his breath.

 

Seventeen had to chuckle at that.

 

Saiyaman heroically and campily put his hand up to his ear. “What was that? I couldn’t hear you! Speak up next time! It’s important to practice good diction and clear communication skills!”

 

This guy looked and sounded like a character straight out of a dated children’s cartoon back when Seventeen was the target demographic. What a loon- not that Vigilante Awesome was much better.

 

“I said, why aren’t we making those weird Circle creeps do this while we go do something more important?” his pint-sized partner asked, tugging again at his black superhero mask. “They may not’ve cause the earthquake, but this is what they wanted, right? So why should they get to stay in a safe place while we go look for food for them?! They were trying to blow people up! They don’t deserve our help!”

 

Seventeen suddenly wished he had watched the news more often. What in the fresh hell had been happening while he was working?!

 

“Yeah, well.” Saiyaman dropped the good guy act and pulled a can of something out of the ground. He tossed it to Vigilante Awesome. “What good’s it gonna do if they died?”

 

“Huh?”

 

“I said, what good is it gonna do if they died? If they’re dead, they can’t answer for their crimes, and then we won’t know what all else they had planned, and why,” Saiyaman said. “Also, if we condemn them to death, how does that make us any better?”

 

“‘Cause they tried to blow us up first, that’s why!” The child bristled. “Better or worse doesn’t really matter- if someone tries to kill you, you should kill them so they don’t try again! It’s just common sense! It’s logic!”

 

Saiyaman knelt back down and balanced a few more uncovered cans on his arms. “Yeah, well. If I understand it correctly, your dad oughta be dead, then, by that logic.”

 

Seventeen seriously wondered if he should just quietly walk away at this point and try to find someone else.

 

Vigilante froze, and sucked in a few breaths like he wanted to speak, but the words dissolved in his throat whenever he tried. “Why do you know about that?” His shoulders started to shake. “That’s different!”

 

Saiyaman sighed and rubbed at the back of his neck. “I’m gonna tell you somethin’, kid,” he said. “I hate my parents. I also love my parents! But, you know, they are still objectively pieces of shit about certain things. All those things can be true at the same time. But, y’know, they also don’t get to define you, beyond the fact that you just happened to be associated with them. You’re too cool of a kid to get sucked into things like that. It’s not your fault.”

 

Vigilante slammed his foot into the ground. A disproportionate amount of shrapnel displaced into the air around it. “Shut up! Just shut up!” He wiped at his eyes furiously. “You’re some weak little shrimp just pretending to be someone I know! You don’t get to act like you’re really my friend!”

 

“Stranger danger’s a real thing and I’m glad you’re wary, but I’m not pretending. I meant everything I said.”

 

Vigilante steadied his breathing. “Liar.”

 

“I’m not lying.”

 

“Jerk.”

 

“Hey.”

 

“Circle jerk!”

 

“Woah, now!”

 

“Cultist Clown! Ki klutz! Wuss! You can’t even beat me!”

 

“Alright, that’s not even close to fair!”

 

Vigilante threw his nose in the air and crossed his arms. The black trash bag smacked against his side ungracefully. “Well, we at least coulda stayed in Mister Satan’s mansion and made the criminals pick through the old grocery store instead of the other way around! We could set it up to be a way better secret base than Hass’s dinky restaurant!”

 

“Nonsense! Hass uses that noble space to serve the other citizens dinner. Likewise, we must serve these criminals,” Saiyaman, suddenly in character, made a few inexplicable poses, like he was performing the beginnings of a fighting kata but only more exaggerated, “their just desserts!”

 

The boy stood baffled for a good ten seconds before cradling his face in his hands, as if acting on Seventeen’s thoughts.

 

“What?”

 

“Yup, you’re Gohan, alright,” Vigilante Awesome said. “Scarily so.”

 

Gohan. Seventeen’s eyes lit up. “Hey,” he called out, freeing himself and bursting into the air and towards them without any of his prior reservations. “Looks like we meet again.”

 

Both Saiyaman and the boy jumped about five feet in the air and whirled around to face Seventeen.

 

“Who’re you?! How’re you flying without any Inner Flame?!” Saiyaman shrieked. Then, with his hand raised to poorly conceal his mouth and direct his words, he said to Vigilante Awesome, “This guy doesn’t have any Inner Flame! How can he fly if he doesn’t have any Inner Flame?!” His eyes darted to and from Seventeen from beneath his visor. “It’s like there was a campfire of Inner Flame, and then someone just took a piss on it and left it to smoke! No! Not even that- they pissed it out and then took a dump on it to smother out even the smoke! This guy is stone cold! Stone cold! Like a corpse!”

 

Seventeen raised his eyebrows. Son Goku’s son had certainly changed in the past seven years. “I can hear you, you know. There was a lot of bad blood between us, and I get that, but that’s no excuse to forget who I am, Gohan.”

 

“Oh! You know Gohan.” Vigilante Awesome snapped his fingers and summoned his cohort’s attention. “C’mon, take it off- there’s no point in hiding it all the way out here.” The boy grabbed Saiyaman’s helmet and tugged it off to the tune of the wearer’s garbled complaints. Without it, a man with brown hair, brown skin, a healing black eye, and a split lip who was most definitely not Son Gohan blinked back at Seventeen. “This is actually Polymnia, but he’s pretending to be Gohan, who is usually Saiyaman, but pretends to not also be Gohan. So you were kinda right!”

 

Seventeen tried to follow that for about half a second before waving it away. “Whatever. It’s not that important. I think.” He was surprised to find himself disappointed.

 

Polymnia snatched the helmet from Vigilante Awesome and plopped it back on his head. “Not cool, unmasking me like that! Not cool!” He pointed a finger at Seventeen. “And who the hell are you?! Why don’t you give off any energy?! Are you after me? Who hired you?! Are you on something?! Are you off something?! Who do you work for?!”

 

“What’s it to ya?” Seventeen asked. Admittedly, he had no room to call anyone paranoid when his knee jerk reaction to the nearby aircraft approaching the city was to shoot it down and ask questions later, but at least he knew better than to actually do it. The planes around here were most likely transporting aid and supplies anyway, not poachers. 

 

But more importantly, most people never even noticed Seventeen’s particular quirk. Polymnia and the boy were apparently very special. “Is he always this paranoid?” Seventeen asked.

 

Vigilante Awesome removed his black mask and Seventeen realized that the child’s face looked hauntingly familiar. “Kinda, but it’s just been a rough few days for him so I’m not totally sure what he’s normally like.” The boy stuck out his hand. “I’m--” the boy froze and stared at the sky like a deer caught in headlights. “Hide me,” he said instead, and dove beneath Polymnia’s cape.

 

The plane Seventeen had picked up on just a moment ago came to stop above them, and a screeching voice blasted out of a megaphone held by a woman with blue hair and immaculate lipstick.

 

“TRUNKS BRIEFS,” she said, “YOU ARE IN BIG TROUBLE, MISTER!” She jabbed her perfectly manicured finger at Polymnia. A bangle of gold glimmered around her wrist as it slid up and down her arm in her passion. “AND SO ARE YOU, YOU SAIYAMAN LOOKALIKE!”

 

“Trunks Briefs?” Seventeen said, looking to the child. “Really?”

 

“AND YOU!” Seventeen pointed at Polymnia while Polymnia pointed at Trunks. “NO! YOU, SEVENTEEN,” the woman specified, annoyed. 

 

Polymnia pointed at Seventeen, but Seventeen pointed to Polymnia, just to be that way. 

 

“YES!” said the woman.

 

“You know my mom?” interjected Trunks.

 

Both men pointed at themselves. 

 

“NO! THE CYBORG!”

 

Polymnia took a sharp intake of breath. “You’re from Project Lapis Lazuli,” he said, his eyes wide beneath his visor and the flesh of his swollen eye.

 

Seventeen winked. “Are you a friend of Doctor Gero?”

 

“No,” said Polymnia. 

 

Seventeen believed him. “Good,” he said. “It’d be depressing if someone else had to die today.” Then, to Polymnia’s rapt silence, he said, “My name is Seventeen. Don’t wear it out.”

 

“HEY!” said the woman above. “DON’T IGNORE ME!” The feedback on her machine was fierce when she raised the pitch of her voice. “YOU SHOULD CALL YOUR SISTER OCCASIONALLY, SEVENTEEN. YOU’RE AN UNCLE NOW, AND YOU I’LL BET YOU DIDN’T EVEN KNOW IT!”

 

\---

 

All things considered, the island temple was pretty okay. Eighteen could do without foregoing her shoes everywhere, but the monks helped see to Krillin and played with Marron until she fell asleep, too, so that was something. Eighteen walked outside, her snoozing daughter balanced on her hip, and bowed to the monk staring at the sky.

 

“Thanks for letting us put our capsule house on the mountain,” she said. “And letting my kid play with you.”

 

The monk gave a big smile. “It was no problem. You know, Krillin used to deliver us milk when he wasn’t much bigger than she is now!” He chuckled and coughed a few times before chuckling some more. “Did he tell you?”

 

Eighteen nodded. “A little. Say, do you think this tsunami’s really going to wash us away?”

 

The monk shrugged. “Beats me. I can’t imagine a better place to go, though. The mainland isn’t doing too well because of the quakes, and this is the protected side of the island. If this place doesn’t survive, I guess we’re all doomed.” He shuffled on inside and paused at the entryway. “By the way, your husband said your phone has been ringing off the hook ever since you hooked it back up. You’re popular!”

 

Eighteen narrowed her eyes. They had been getting phone calls from an unknown number- a different one each time- for literal days until she had finally unplugged it. They had only plugged it back in in light of the weather situation. Surely their persistent callers had given up by now, hadn’t they? “It’s probably Turtle,” she finally said. “It was Roshi’s stupid idea to go poke around the island. He probably threw out his back, or fell and couldn’t get up or something.” She gathered up her shoes and strode towards the pink Kame House and all its kitsch glory before her.

 

She had no sooner walked in the door than the phone demanded her attention. She scooped it up and held the receiver to her ear. “What is it?”

 

“Hello hello,” said a cheerful, animated stranger instead of a panicked turtle. “It’s so nice to talk to you again, Miss Eighteen!” 

 

“We’re not home,” Eighteen said, and moved to slam the receiver back down.

 

The voice grew even more excited. “Ohhhh! You hang up, and I’ll blow you and your family into a million little pieces!”

 

Eighteen froze.

 

“I love fireworks, but it’s a little bit of a waste to fire them off before it’s dark enough to appreciate them, don’t you think?”

 

Oh. A tiny voice in Eighteen’s head told her to hang up and walk away, but something else in her urged her to take the last word before she did. “Fuck you.” She laughed and moved the receiver over to memorize and then block the number. “There’s no bomb inside of me anymore, asshole,” she muttered. “Nice try.”

 

The voice heard her. “I wasn’t talking about you,” he said. “You weren’t exactly present for your husband’s medical treatment at the tournament, were you? They had to open him up to stop all his internal bleeding, you know. Might’ve left something inside. Whoops! Unfortunately common, these days.”

 

Eighteen felt herself go cold. “What? No- that’s impossible! If- if someone planted something like that, I’d know!” She looked to the ceiling of the house beneath where Krillin’s room was and scanned for anything mechanical. “There’s no bomb!” she confirmed.

 

“Oh, but isn’t there? Poor Eighteen,” said the voice, drawing the words out long and slow. “She can’t sense ki. There’s a whole world she’ll never know about because she can’t sense ki! How sad! The Circle of the Inner Flame really has you in a pickle, doesn’t it, since all they really use is something you can’t sense!” Something crunched on the other line, like the speaker was biting into something. “Nyeheheheh!”

 

Eighteen settled Marron down on the couch and sequestered herself in the bathroom. “You’re bluffing.”

 

“Am I?” The voice sighed. “How sad! The two of you came together over a bomb, and now the same thing is gonna rip you apart! How poetic! You should write a book!”

 

“What do you want?!” Eighteen hissed, white-knuckled and shaking. She hated this. She hated being under the thumb of another person. “What the hell do you want?!” The thought of Krillin dying made her head spin, and she felt her body go on autopilot to keep her heart rate steady. 

 

She hated this cult. She hated them! Had they planned this from the beginning?! The red-haired woman from the tournament, the one who fought Krillin in the first place- was she responsible for this? Had she known?

 

Did it really matter?

 

On the other end of the line, the voice giggled. “Oh! Hm. That was easier than I thought it would be. You really are helpless without your husband and that old man there to hold your hand, huh? Heh!”

 

“I’ll kill you,” Eighteen swore. “Whoever you are, I’ll kill you.”

 

“Sure, fine. Whatever you want. I’ll even tell you where I am, if you do just one teeny, tiny little thing for me first.” The voice laughed again- a raspy, overextended sound. “People call me Clio. I need you to pick something up for me.”

 

“I’ll kill you if you touch him,” Eighteen repeated.

 

“Of course, dollface, of course. Make sure you dress warmly for this, alright? I want you to leave immediately. And I’ll know if you go anywhere else.”

 

“I’ll kill you,” she repeated.

 

“Mmhm. And I’ll blow him up if you do something I don’t like. So here’s the coordinates of what I need you to find.”

 

\---

 

Polymnia smiled at Bulma Briefs. Trunks stood in the back of Sevoya’s bedroom, sulking and thoroughly scolded, while Seventeen lounged in a chair next to him with the passionate wish to be literally anywhere else shining in his clear blue eyes. Hass himself was probably in the kitchen below, cooking his brains out and probably recovering from screaming at Earl to move tables, furniture, and people for like two days straight. He’d been quiet down there for a while.

 

“How nice to see you again!” Polymnia said, fluttering his eyelashes and doing his best to turn on the charm through his bruised face. “Would you like the data for your special suit, Miss Briefs?”

 

Bulma opened her mouth to say one thing, and then tripped over it just like Polymnia anticipated. “Yes,” she said. “After I make a citizen’s arrest on you for the kidnapping and endangerment of a child- and for impersonating another person, and stealing!”

 

“Mom,” interjected Trunks, “I don’t know if you noticed, but he and I kind of are the cops right now.”

 

“Not another word, young man!” Bulma snapped.

 

“I didn’t actually steal the suit,” Polymnia interjected. “This is one of the models you sold to Erato Zinfandel, and I’m testing it for one of his scientists.” The shadiest of its scientists, admittedly- Polymnia knew the minute that Clio approached him with the opportunity that it was part of some larger machination.

 

Bulma ground her teeth and screwed her rouged lips up into a pursed knot in the middle of her face. “After that tournament fiasco, there’s a myriad of things I could get him and his company in the can for- and that company includes you, Julian Naan.”

 

“I really wouldn’t threaten me right now, Miss Briefs,” Polymnia answered, chipper. “While I am notorious for a lot of unconventional practices, I’m the embodiment for all the help this side of the continent is likely going to get at this immediate, crucial time.”

 

“Hey!” said Trunks. “What about me?!”

 

“Trunks!” Bulma warned, and then turned back to Polymnia. “Au contraire,” she said, suddenly smug. “The Capsule Corporation is on its way with an entire new community’s worth of capsules, and a plan to lay them out in a sustainable way,” she boasted. “And I just supplied everyone in this neighborhood with water when I arrived. So, ha!”

 

“That’s very commendable of you, but I don’t mean like that,” Polymnia assured her, and smiled his cutthroat VP smile. “I mean that it’s Circle powers holding people accountable and evacuating folks as needed here and in East City, and I wouldn’t exactly call it a wise move to make an enemy of the authority that was already here to quell the initial anarchy of--”

 

Suddenly, the door burst open and Hass barrelled in. “Look, I know this talk of business is really important and all, and I tried really hard to mind my own business, but,” He grabbed Bulma by the shoulders, “but you’ve got a plane and a lot of money, right?” He pressed his face closer to hers. “And you know where you can find Son Gohan, right?” He shook poor Bulma with the gusto that only a panicked parent can. “I told you where to find your son, so can you help me find my daughter? Please?!” 

 

\---

 

Finding Vegeta was not difficult by any means. Gohan only needed to look down and see the deep fissure in the earth leading northward like one single, great road paving the way to the only possible destination Gohan would ever reach. He was the one responsible for at least half of it, though, so it was fitting that he follow it to the end. It felt like he was flying in a fog, even though the sun was perfectly clear in the sky above.

 

The cherry blossom fields he had taken Dende to not weeks before were neither pink nor green anymore, he noticed. He hoped they would grow back, someday, and if any guardian deity was smiling on him from above, he selfishly asked them to let him see it happen within his lifetime.

 

It didn’t feel right to pray to Dende for that kind of thing, since it was hardly up to him in the first place. And actually, there was a time when Dende said he hated Saiyans, anyway, and for good reason, since one had taken everything away from him and another may have tricked him into coming to Earth in the first place, and a third…

 

A third had forgotten his own name, values, and self-control, and cracked open Dende’s planet in an instant of fury he could barely remember. Gohan felt dirty asking him for anything anymore, or even entertaining the idea of it. It wasn’t right for him to accept Dende’s kindness, either- or Sevoya’s, or even Videl’s. He had done it anyway.

 

But Sevoya hated him now, or, at least, she was afraid of him. Videl was angry, and so was his mother, probably. Those emotions were something he, disturbingly, found that he could accept. They were comforting, in a way, because they were exactly what he expected. Goten was confused, and it broke his brother’s heart and made him sick to his stomach, but he deserved that also.

 

But Dende held none of these things in his heart. Gohan knew it, just like how he knew the sky was blue and Piccolo was green. Their absence frightened him. He wanted Dende to be angry with him! Why wouldn’t he hate him?!

 

Is that why Gohan couldn’t ride the Nimbus? Because he wanted someone to hate him?!

 

Why did he want someone to hate him so badly?! Why?!

 

The air grew colder. He halted himself and the Nimbus and pulled his white overcoat and red scarf from the bag sitting at Thalia’s side.

 

“You ready?” Thalia asked. “There’s no going back once you choose to meet this, y’know.”

 

“Was there ever?” Gohan asked.

 

“Just thought I should ask.” Thalia shrugged, and they resumed their journey.

 

The single canyon beneath them fractured into more and more rivulets as they went on, like a plant sprouting branches to try and catch the sun.

 

The snow met them soon enough as it stained the sky and hurried down to cover the earth, too, but the northern mountains were still bare and broken. They kneeled over the deep cracks in the valley like a woman and her children weeping over the ruins of their home.

 

“Go to Jingle,” Gohan called to the Nimbus. “Take Thalia there and help the villagers. I’ll talk to Vegeta.”

 

Thalia argued something back as the cloud carried her away, but Gohan ignored her and followed the lines in the earth to where they began, where whatever was waiting was waiting for him.


	39. Vegeta and Gohan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vegeta, Gohan, and a little, tiny secret.

The giant knelt in a horseshoe of snow piled around himself like the bedding of a frightened, fixated child ogling at the bogeyman for the first time. He gnashed his teeth and growled as the hair on his head bristled and his tail lashed back and forth behind him. The hum of energy coursed through him like electricity through a cable, and the veins in his hands and neck bulged as if to compensate for the sudden deluge of excitement flooding into him. He might burst at any moment, and his body softly pulsed light and his mouth leaked foam from the strain of the pressure building inside of him.

“A moment ago you were cowering in a corner,” remarked Vegeta. “Did you lose yourself in fear?”

He dove for Vegeta with maddened fury in his eyes and his arms raised as if to grab the warrior and pull him in two. But Vegeta swatted his hands away and punched him in the stomach before anything came of it. The goliath resolutely tried again, and then received a blast of ki in his face for his trouble and swayed in recoil.

Vegeta grabbed his opponent’s chin and held it so that their eyes met, even as the giant snapped and frothed and tore at his assailant’s blue suit and then into his tense flesh. The Prince stood straight-armed and hard-faced through the abuse in a wreath of roiling ki, a brilliant flame to the goliath’s fast-flickering bulb, and watched him struggle.

“So that’s really how it is,” said the Prince. “And so they sent you here, in the hopes you would die. You don’t even see me clearly, do you?”

“Let him go, Vegeta,” Piccolo called down. “He’s almost able to transform as he is right now, and each defeat gifts him with a zenkai. He may not even need it if you frustrate him enough.”

“Frustration’s got nothing to do with it,” Vegeta muttered under his breath.

As if to prove it, the giant’s soft glow exploded into to a focused, sickly yellow. He broke free of the Prince’s hold and grabbed Vegeta’s entire face in his huge hands.

“Vegeta!” Piccolo exclaimed. Calliope’s knees buckled beneath her, and she wretched. Terpsichore rushed to her.

Suddenly, the Prince’s body erupted into a sphere of light and pushed the goliath away and into the frozen earth. The giant was back on his feet in an instant, and the ground around him practically melted into sludge beneath him as a new wave of anger licked up his body. Then, he opened his mouth and roared so loudly that the snow, sleet, and wind were afraid to touch him. They fled from him in a panic up and around the lip of the crater, and the giant got down on all fours and barrelled towards Vegeta in a furious charge.

The Prince calmly sidestepped and snatched the giant’s tail with biting fingers, and suddenly the maddened giant’s eyes rolled to the back of his head and he froze, drool sliding down the side of his mouth and freezing in place once his current of energy left him. 

The snow tentatively drifted back down to meet him, settling on his hair, his shoulders, his back, as if to cover up the fact that he was ever here.

Piccolo watched alongside Calliope at the crater’s edge, helpless.

“What did he do?!” Calliope signed. “I don’t understand. His Inner Flame was huge, and then suddenly it was almost gone!”

Piccolo put a hand on her shoulder. “He’s not dead, but I’m not sure it matters. Whether the two of you choose to run or stay is up to you, but I can’t say I have the power to defend you should Vegeta sincerely want to kill you.”

“There is nowhere to run,” Terpsichore said. “God help us.”

“He tried,” Piccolo blurted, his arms and legs remembering how to move as he leapt from the ledge of the crater. “Do not blame him if I fail him.” He touched the ground with grace and strode towards Vegeta with swift, definitive strides. 

The Prince, his eyes still on the sleeping giant, spoke to Piccolo midway. “His hair pattern is exactly the same.” The wind hushed itself beneath his otherworldly glow, as if it were stunned speechless in the face of his singular power. “A Saiyan’s hair is indicative of the kind of warrior he is. Kakarot was a common nobody, and it was apparent from the moment I saw him. His demeanor had nothing to do with it, though his personality certainly fit the part.” Vegeta turned to look at Piccolo. “Do you know what we used to do with Saiyans like this?”

Piccolo halted, frozen with the fresh snow, draped in his cape just as white and silent.

Vegeta raised his chin. “We are warriors with pride as individuals, but we depend on one another to push our limits. A common mutt does not challenge an elite because they will die in the altercation rather than survive and grow stronger. This helps no one. Our nobles are strong and notable in both presence and power to prevent this mistake.” Vegeta crossed his arms. “Dirtying our hands with the slaughter of a lesser Saiyan by birth without due cause is utterly disgraceful.” Then, he gestured to the giant staring at the sky with wide, empty eyes from his spot in the snow. “However, when a mad dog needs to be put down, it’s a Saiyan’s obligation to do the job without hesitation.” The Prince tore himself away from the sight. “Of course it would turn out this way. Of course. The gods are laughing at me.” He dropped the giant’s tail on the ground and then stared into the palm of his hand. “That’s why I have survived, but he hasn’t. They needed someone to laugh at.” His fingers bunched into a fist and he screamed at the sky. “Is this good enough for you?! I hope it’s quite a show!”

“Make sense, Vegeta,” Piccolo commanded, skulking closer. “Monologuing isn’t going to solve--”

Vegeta struck Piccolo across the jaw, but mercifully allowed him to keep his footing. “Don’t mock me! Don’t you understand, you idiot?! Two of the last Saiyans, my last hope, and they’re madmen! They have no love of the fight, nor any control of their powers- whatever they think or that they are gets lost the moment that their ki starts to flood their minds unbound!”

Piccolo wiped his mouth and inspected his hand for any blood. There was none. “Is this your form of an apology for your actions, Vegeta? To plead madness?”

The Prince’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t pretend you don’t know. This isn’t about me, no matter how much you’d love another reason to put me in your camp of tragically apologetic reformees.”

“I fail to believe that any situation involving you could possibly not be about you, by your own design.”

“I’ll strike you again, green man,” Vegeta threatened. “I’ll strike you as many times as it takes!”

“Was bullying your own subject not enough for you?”

The light from Vegeta’s otherworldly cast glinted eerily off his teeth as he ground them together. “Shut up. I’ll spell it out for you: your favorite student is broken. He was born that way, and he’s always been that way, and now he’s showing it just as plainly as the drooling whelp behind me, unless that demonstration in the south did not make it perfectly obvious. They will never be true Saiyan warriors. Neither of them.” Vegeta turned his head and shouted at the far side of the crater. “Or am I wrong?”

A scarf of red trailed along the growing wind like a stream of blood undulating through running water, or like a red flag signaling war on the side of a fort. Gohan pulled it from his mouth and stepped down into the cold, open crypt of things long left unsaid. “What I am and what I’m not is none of your business,” he called back across the eerie quiet. “But if we’ve got to play this game, don’t ever talk down to me about mindless violence. Don’t talk to me about taking great pleasure in killing.”

“And what have you told my son behind my back?!” Vegeta accused, pushing past Piccolo and gaining ground on his new opponent.

“What haven’t you told him?” Gohan shot back, his tail thrashing. “I’d love to know what you’d have to say.”

“And I’m sure you’d love to hear the same from your father, wouldn’t you?!”

Gohan drew closer and tore off his hood. His eyes were dark and sunken with exhaustion, and it gave his face a tight, haunting look. “I’m not the one devoting my life to fight his memory, or planting his ghost on someone else.”

“Oh, aren’t you?”

“My father is not coming back for you,” Gohan spat. “Succumb to the way of Earth, or seal your own fate. Your people are dead. Choose. You do not have the luxury of changing your mind.”

“Neither do you,” Vegeta said, standing his ground against Gohan’s height towering over his head. “You never did. We determined your destiny the day we found you, and you hurtled towards it like a comet chasing the sun! You say you deny it, but it defines you! It consumes you! Your mountain is in shambles because of you, isn’t it?!”

Gohan’s answer was evident on his face. “What,” he said, his voice chapped like his lips against the rough wind, “What are you going to do with him?”

A black-pink gem of energy lit at the top of Vegeta’s finger, as if Frieza himself were whispering instructions into his ear. “His death should at least be by the hands of his Prince. I can grant him that.”

“You would do that?!” Piccolo stepped forwards. “He may be dangerous, but you would kill him immediately, with no questions?”

“He’s just a baby,” Gohan said. “He can find another way, if we guide him.”

“If he wakes up and flies into a rage when I am not transformed, I cannot hold him,” Vegeta admitted. “He’s a Legendary one, set to kill those powers that come above his.”

“Legendary,” Gohan repeated. “What is that?”

“A Saiyan born with an insanity of power, and prone to claiming more still at the price of everything around them. The truth is,” Vegeta said, “Frieza feared all Saiyans because he knew the stories of an usurper were no fairy story, but a specific threat. One day we would have a Legendary, a known Legendary, a Saiyan just like you, and one day we might even find a way to control him and set him loose upon our enemies, just like with Cell.”

Gohan’s haggard face took Vegeta in with huge eyes.

“But more likely, he would destroy us first. That’s the nature of Legendaries.”

“So you were bluffing.” Gohan’s voice was very small. “All that time, you were bluffing. And you knew! You were never the one! It was all a lie, just to scare Frieza!” His eyes widened. “Me. It was me. You kept me alive because you knew!” He sucked in a breath. “When my father wasn’t worried about Cell, you let it go because you knew!” Gohan’s ki began to pulse, beating a rhythm too loud and too soft for the ears to hear.

Vegeta shook his head. “Little half-breed. Of course I knew. I knew from the moment I saw you, as unbelievable as it was.” He shook his head. “I cursed hybrids! I planned to forbid them, because I heard about you! You were born marked with the affliction, and you showed it! Every time, you showed it! Why would a common, barely-trained pup have the ability to suddenly stand against me as a match, and with an eerie focus in his eye?! Why against the devil that killed my people, if only for a moment?! Why against a creature of destruction made perfect, and why, without fail, without any warning or sign of his strength before the moment it swallowed him?! It was never a secret! I thought you had tamed it, maybe, but come the moment we called upon you, I was wrong. You don’t control it, Gohan- it controls you!” Vegeta buried his fingers in Gohan’s black hair. “Cutting this short will never hide it- you and the creature behind me, both of you- you are born the same! You try and deny it to yourself, but will never take your father’s place! Not because you lack the power, but because where he lusted for the strength to seek a challenge, you lust only for blood!” He cast the boy’s head away, and Gohan stumbled back. “You have no honor or love for what I love. Now, go home and pretend. Pretend to be human. If you succeed, I’ll leave you to it. You have my word.” Vegeta turned away. “Never speak of this, not to anyone.”

“You were jealous,” Gohan said, incredulous. “And angry. And afraid. You were always afraid of me.”

“I am the Prince,” snarled Vegeta. “And I now can claim the legend for myself!” A fresh wave of power bubbled through him and flared out. “And I am a true Saiyan warrior! Kakarot was a true Saiyan warrior! We cultivated this power from within ourselves, and kept our minds! You may have staved it off and crushed it down into the deepest part of your heart, but ultimately, the power triumphed over yours!” Vegeta pointed the dark, sinister ball of ki balanced on his finger at the giant. “As it has over him.” He fired.

“No!” Gohan cried.

Vegeta’s ray never connected. The giant flipped over at the last second and clambered for its source, his power mounting with each centimeter he gained on his target. Vegeta fired again, but Gohan transformed and struck him. The ray went wild and shattered the wall of the crater.

“I can’t let you just kill him!”

“You idiot!” Vegeta screamed at him, and hit back. “I’d wanted to spare you from this, but if you’re so eager to join your father, I may as well let you!”

The giant threw his hands out for both of them and burned them both with two yellow-white bolts of ki when he made contact. Gohan escaped the worst of it, but Vegeta screamed at the full value of the assault, and then fired back a barrage. The giant pushed through it and the ensuing smoke like a warship cutting through fog, and then crashed his balled fists down where Vegeta was standing to crushed the earth into a fine dust when the Prince moved away from the blow.

“Fast learner,” Vegeta remarked, and then kicked the back of the goliath’s neck so his face went into the dirt. The giant was back up immediately, and grabbed the Prince’s other leg. Vegeta twisted in his huge hands, threw his knee into the soft part beneath the giant’s jaw, and brought his elbow down on the crown of his head when the giant still did not let go.

Gohan held his hands aloft and sent both of them alight with a Masenko. Vegeta swung his leg so that the giant’s huge body ate most of the damage. Then, he released the Prince and stumbled for Gohan instead.

“See how you like it!” Vegeta growled, and fired a beam at Gohan’s arm, just for good measure, but the boy snarled and deflected it right back at him at the last possible second.

“If I only aimed for him, you’d kill him!” 

“You stupid child! He’ll kill both of us!”

The giant dodged beneath Gohan’s palm strike to his chest and caged the boy’s head between both of his hands, a vacant, glazed, gleeful mindlessness written all over his features. He squeezed. The red scarf fell limply from his neck and got lost in the wind.

“Gohan!” Piccolo shouted.

“Shit,” Vegeta said.

The giant lifted his writhing, screaming prize up into the air. Vegeta raced to him and scrambled to grab his tail, but the elusive thing swept up the snow as it flicked to the side and then crashed into the side of the Prince’s neck. The giant’s sick glow burned brighter, and veins appeared all over his body like roots had sprouted beneath his skin and taken hold. Vegeta fell sprawled in the snow.

Gohan cried out and struggled beneath the pressure, and then, like someone had switched a light on inside him, he flooded the crater with a new, live energy that caused the air to rise up with glittering sparks and spill out over the broken mountainside. The giant hollered as the power punched its way through him, and more froth poured from his mouth as he worked himself into a lather.

If Calliope could make a sound from her mouth, she would have screamed in agony. Terpsichore gathered her into his weak arms and trembled as the crater deepened and the earth shook beneath them. “We have to get out of here,” he said.

“We have to do something,” she answered.

Gohan boxed the giant’s ears, and then, when his head was free, slammed his skull against the goliath’s and struck his forearm against his throat. The giant dropped his guard, and Gohan leveled a blast at his face.

A few of Vegeta’s hairs singed off as the beam overtook the giant’s body and clipped him as it stampeded into the crater wall, silencing its singular passenger with a cascade of rubble. Gohan turned his attention towards Vegeta, next. He didn’t say anything, only stared and mounted his strength up and up and up until the ground split in five places beneath his feet and his bright silhouette swallowed the shadows.

“Gohan,” Vegeta called to him. “Gohan!”

He received no answer.

Piccolo tried harder. “Stop this! Snap out of it! You’re making the ground more unstable! What about the people left in the village?!”

Nothing. The boy was lost behind glass green eyes, and, as if to prove it, he sent another shockwave through the ground. He towered over Vegeta, radiating malice.

The Prince sneered at the King. “If this is the way it’s got to be, I’ll put you down, too.” he hesitated only a moment longer. “Goodbye, Son Gohan.”

Then, Vegeta struck. He hit Gohan’s sternum, missed his head, got caught when he tried to kick him, dodged Gohan’s answering elbow, and then had the ground pulled out from underneath him when the boy’s tail wrapped around his ankle and sent him on his back. Vegeta covered his face and grit his teeth against the Masenko he knew was coming, and then kicked Gohan’s legs to buy him enough time to get back to his feet. He anticipated the boy’s next feint and pushed an elbow to his stomach before barely missing Gohan’s torso with a pink ray.

The two of them broke apart, then.

“The next one, you won’t avoid. You’re faster,” Vegeta said, “but I’ve kept up with my trai--!”

Gohan appeared from nowhere, slapped Vegeta, and then chopped at his neck. The older man gagged and ungracefully fell to his knees.

Piccolo was there in an instant. “Gohan, this is not you!” he said. “Snap out of it!”

“I should have killed you,” Vegeta rasped, pulling himself up. “I should have killed you first!” He shoved past Piccolo, feinted, and then stepped down on Gohan’s tail and ground his heel into it.

The color left Gohan’s hair and he let out a cry of surprise before he went limp.

“Vegeta!” Piccolo gaped, horrified, and the Prince rebuked him with a series of piercing shots through his torso and arms.

“Don’t stop me, Namek!” Vegeta commanded. “The only kindness for monsters is death!” He took aim at Gohan, and then, with a deep exhale,

A wave of blue ki, undulating within itself like a swiftly flowing river or the current beneath the ocean waves, grabbed Vegeta and pushed him away.

Piccolo turned to find the source of the Kamehameha, and found the woman Thalia running towards him, a black box clutched in her hands. Her red hair contrasted sharply with the snow, but more striking still was the way the air around her shimmered and writhed with the same cinnamon color, like she herself could dye the air.

“Who are you?! Piccolo asked. “How do you know that move?! How do you have that much power behind it?!”

“That isn’t important,” she said, slowing as she crouched down and helped Gohan stand. If you can walk, go help them!” She pointed to the giant’s last resting place, and to Terpsichore and Calliope standing nearby with violet-coated hands and a belligerent goliath throwing a suspiciously powerless tantrum.

Vegeta regained his footing and screamed at the sky. “You bitch!” he hollered. “Keep your nose out of things that don’t concern you!”

“Thalia, I don’t want to kill him,” Gohan said, wrapping his tail around his waist. “Despite everything, I can’t let it end like that!”

“I know. We’re gonna get him. I’ve got a plan.” Thalia flipped open the black box and pulled out the loops of silver inside. “C’mere, you son of a bitch,” she said to Vegeta.

\---

Her voice invaded the room, and Melpomene opened his eyes in search of it.

“Those people down there,” she said. “I know them. Why are they here?”

Clio snorted. “Oh, don’t pay them any mind. But if any of them notices you, it’s game over! Shouldn’t be too hard to avoid them, since they’re not only idiots, but idiots who can’t sense you.”

“I’ll see you die,” she promised.

Melpomene searched his memory for her name. Everything was fuzzy. But she was so beautiful, with her blonde hair and blue eyes, and the way she smiled at her husband. She said she had a child, too! Oh, she was so lucky. How wonderful, that a cyborg was able to have a family, and a normal life. Melpomene began to tear up.

Eighteen. Her name was Eighteen. She deserved all of it. Melpomene’s heart ached with love. “Cli-Clio,” he said. “Can I see her? I want… I want to s-say I’m sor-sorry,” he croaked out. He was idly aware that his hands were shaking and his vision was swimming. Everything hurt, even breathing. His pulse was running out of control, and the omnipresent pressure of his mechanical brain was totally gone. Emotion dripped from his eyes. “D-don’t trap her here. She has people w-waiting for her. Don’t t-take her,” he begged.

Clio’s silhouette barely turned against the painfully bright glow of his many monitors. “Oh, you’re up? Bothersome layabout. She’s not here right now.”

Eighteen’s voice came down again over the speakers. “Who’s with you?”

“Nobody who matters,” Clio said. “Anyway, get what I asked for. I’ll send you the coordinates of where to take it once you have it in hand.” He hit a button on his keyboard with the pointed end of a carrot and then turned to Melpomene. “So sad. You’ve gone into shock,” he said. “Maybe I’ll just sit here and watch you die from it.” He pulled out a syringe. “Or, I’ll put you back to sleep and hook you back up to the regulator. Which’d be more fun for me, d’ya think?” He giggled.

“Don’t trap Eig- Eighteen,” Melpomene pleaded. “Do wh-whatever you w-want with m-me instead. I love,” he started to spasm. “I love her.”

Clio bounded over and stuck the syringe into Melpomene’s neck. “Oh, shut up.”

\---

Vegeta knocked Thalia’s guard aside, but she sidestepped his next onslaught and punched him in the nose. Amazingly, he recoiled.

“You might’ve actually been something special, if you weren’t human,” Vegeta almost complemented, and then drove his knuckles into her jaw. She crumpled beneath the force, and Gohan emerged to take her place. He pushed Vegeta back, grabbed his arms, and grappled with him.

“You really think you can hold me with just the bare minimum of energy needed in a transformation?!” the Prince accused, and threw Gohan backwards. “You insult me!”

Gohan splayed his fingers out on either side of his face. The otherworldly light of the sun blazed back at Vegeta.

The Prince shrieked and stumbled backwards, blinded, and suddenly Thalia was behind him and looping a silver band on his wrists, his ankles, and his forehead. She then grabbed the dial on her necklace and turned it all the way.

Vegeta’s curses died in his throat and his arms fell neatly by his side, powerless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not totally happy with this one, but, well, here it is!!!


	40. Secret Bases

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Secret places, secret bases.... we'll sniff 'em all out eventually!

Tien Shinhan found Videl and Goten sparring at the base of the tallest pines on Mount Paozu. Goten was clearly stronger, but Videl’s flexibility of technique and quick thinking guaranteed that she hit Goten more often than not, even if it didn’t do much to him. Tien Shinhan paused in hauling his load of firewood back to the Son household to watch them. The woodland creatures perched on the branches above him as they did the same gave him a once-over, and then decided he was fine. A baby monkey leapt onto his head to get a better view.

“How do you do that?! Why can’t I do that?! Are you made of steel, or something?!” Videl complained, smacking Goten in the mouth with her foot.

“No,” said Goten, “but mom and Gohan do say it’s unfair how durable Trunks and I are.” He grabbed Videl’s foot and used it to effortlessly flip her over. “But hey,” he added. “I can tell. You’re good, even if you can’t hurt me. I’m going to copy some of what you do next time I go against someone bigger than me. That’s what you’re used to doing, right?”

“I’m not exactly used to trying to beat up on little kids, no,” said Videl.

Tien Shinhan raised his eyebrows. “I’m glad you’re able to tell, Goten. Some people let their egos get to their head over invulnerability.” Tien’s younger self laughed in his own ears.

“Gohan says that’s how you can tell that someone’s really bad- if they can’t see the value of what other people are doing.”

Tien Shinhan could see it- young Gohan, quietly observing battles and matches and simple social interactions from the sidelines, mouth shut and eyes wide, deftly calculating every move ever made in front of him and breaking people down into nothing but little pieces of data from behind his soft, timid smile, ready to come forward and use everything you ever were or ever said against you. It was so very, very Piccolo.

Videl crossed her arms and flipped her hair over her shoulder. “Well, that sounds great and syrupy and just like Gohan, but where is he? I haven’t seen him all day. Is he still hiding after,” she paused, “after whatever that was?”

Goten ducked his head. “He’s gone,” he said. “Gohan left last night. Dende did, too.”

“So he told you, and not me?!” Videl said. “Do I just not get to know anything?! Who’s Dende?”

“He didn’t tell any of us,” Goten said. “I just know. I can feel his ki better than you, even though it keeps doing that thing that it did the other night.” He kicked at the ground, his hands in trembling fists at his sides. “He won’t tell people things. I know mom is really worried, and Dende’s even more worried.” The forest wind blew at his wild hair and ruffled the grass at his feet.

“Hey,” said Videl, “it’ll be okay. We’ll figure this out somehow, right? We’ll find out what’s going on, together! Huh?”

Goten kicked at the dirt, and then suddenly looked up, an inspired fire clear on his features. “Mister Three-eyes!” he exclaimed. 

“My name is Tien Shinhan,” Tien Shinhan corrected.

“Yeah! You’re a really strong human, and Gohan says you’re a good fighter, too.” He pointed at Videl. “Teach her how to use human ki!”

“You’re human?!” Videl blurted, her two eyes staring squarely at his three.

At this point in his life, Tien Shinhan had the grace to slough off those kinds of comments. “I’m not fit to pass on the Crane Style,” he said. Tao Pai Pai and Shen may have lost Tien Shinhan's respect, but it was not his place to take what they had given him and spread it on like it was his own.

That, and it wasn’t right for this girl to learn from someone who had used his art for selfless, baseless evil.

But Goten disagreed- he bristled and shook his head. “Yes, you can! Trunks’ dad did lots of awful things, but he was still a good teacher! And my brother,” he said, “he’s a great teacher, but,” a steely glint entered his black eyes, “he did something bad, too, didn’t he? Or he thinks he did.” Goten’s eyes narrowed. “I know he does. But he’s a great teacher. And whatever the bad thing he did was, it told him how to teach what not to do. So even though you were a bad person in some of the stories about my dad, you aren’t one anymore!”

“Stories?” said Tien Shinhan. “They tell you stories about me?”

“Yeah, of course! I know stories about everyone!” said Goten. “But just ‘cause you were a bad guy in the past just means you have more to teach!” He jammed his pointer finger at Tien Shinhan like he could reach all the way across the clearing and jab him in the forehead. “I know about you! I do! So stop telling yourself how bad you are, or how what you know isn’t yours! You learned from them, but you learned from other people, too, right?! What you know is now your own, right?! It’s not your master’s to misuse anymore! It’s yours to do whatever you want with!”

Videl looked between the two of them, total confusion written on her face.

“Goten, we’ve never met before yesterday, and now you think you can just tell me what to do?” Tien Shinhan realized that Goku’s youngest may not be stupid so much as he was dumb like a fox. A smile tugged at his lips, and then suddenly the little boy had pulled a full laugh from the depths of his most solemn moods.

“What’s so funny? People try and do that to me all the time!” Goten retorted.

“Alright,” Tien Shinhan said. “Fine! Videl, I’ll teach you, if you want. But I warn you- I’m not an easy person to get along with in general, and that’ll surely bleed over into everything else I do!”

“Wh-huh? Yeah!” exclaimed Videl. “Sure! That’s great! I can take it! When do we start?”

“As soon as--” Tien Shinhan paused and looked up. “Goten, do you recognize that energy?” Overhead, the hum of an engine faintly buzzed over the mountain.

“Trunks,” Goten said, his eyes suddenly watery, and then took off into the air and towards a tiny yellow dot high in the sky. “Trunks is here!” 

Videl called after him, and then pursued.

\---

Gone were the bright, methodical patterns encircling the base of this platform and its tower, and instead the smooth surface on top reflected everything viewing it back up at itself like it was some sort of mirror to the soul of all things, living and not.

Erato eased his craft onto the shimmering tile, and then stepped out of his plane and onto the strange grounds of the palace in the sky like he was walking into a dream.

Two narrow flowerbeds decorated with palm trees and flowers demarcated the entryway to the single structure on the immense, floating, sparkling desert. It looked palatial, but old, and only superficially like the ancient structures found in the ruins of the greatest civilizations below. The roof was gold and coral, and the rest of the building was the same white stone as the floor. The sun above forced out shadows at its edges, and Erato swore he saw them move like they living creatures watching him, or memories of people who had come here before in search of knowledge. His shoes clacked loudly and crisply on the ground as he stepped forwards. 

Should take them off? Was this place holy?

Suddenly, Erato had the weirdest sensation that he was being watched. He whirled around and felt his pockets for his needles, just in case.

A genie- he must be a genie- stood in front of his plane, both hands behind his back and totally unmoving. His embroidered red vest contrasted starkly with the blue of the sky above and around him, and Erato wondered where he had come from.

Erato shoved any and all questions about how he got there to the back of his head, and bowed. “Hello. My name is Erato. I have come seeking knowledge, and perhaps the ability to help humanity.”

The genie didn’t say anything, and when Erato looked up after about three minutes, he was still there and still staring.

“Ah,” said Erato, “should I repeat myself?” He cleared his throat. “Hello. My name is Erato. I have come seeking--”

“No,” said the genie.

“--Uh?” Erato blinked. His back was starting to hurt from holding himself at this angle for so long.

Again, the genie was still.

Erato looked searched to his left, and then his right, and then ducked his head back down. “Hello. My name is Era--”

“No,” said the genie.

Erato’s ears twitched. “Ah. Oh. Well.” He straightened his back. “Are you the--”

“Popo!” said the genie.

“E-excuse me?”

Now, the genie said nothing.

Erato felt his tail start to twitch. He took a deep breath and tried again. “You see, I have come a very long way, and I--”

“Popo!”

This time, Erato held his tongue for a solid three minutes and fifteen seconds. He counted the seconds in his own head. “Good sir, I only--”

“Popo!”

Erato ground his teeth, took another gulp of air, and then said, “MynameisEratoandIwouldliketolearnthesecretsoftheEarthandoftheexistanceofDragonballsassumingthattheyarenotmythbutfact.”

The genie took it all with an austere stare, and then, with a loud voice, simply answered, “Popo!”

Erato did not know what he would have done next had another voice behind him not intervened. Probably something involving his claws and the genie’s neck.

“Oh! Hello. Mister Popo, thank you for receiving him.”

Erato turned and found a new, smaller figure hidden by a long scarf over their head and a long, white robe over their body. The sleeves covered their hands, and as they effortlessly floated in the air, Erato got the feeling he was looking at some sort of ghost or some kind of strange angel, one.

“Forgive me,” said the newcomer. “I did not expect to have a guest already. You are Erato Zinfandel, correct?”

“Yes,” said Erato. “I am.”

The hooded stranger nodded. “Mister Popo, if you would, please prepare our guest some tea.” They touched down on the ground, and the genie plodded off into the building at their request. “Now,” said the stranger, “you want to know about the Dragon Balls, correct?”

“Yes,” said Erato, utterly relieved. “I believe that, if they’re truly not a fairy tale, I could use them to help solve a crisis happening on Earth- one that, regrettably, I feel I am partially responsible for.”

The stranger nodded. “Hm. Yes, I know what you’ve come for. Unfortunately, at most, the Dragon Balls could heal the planet of its newest fissures and perhaps restore life to the casualties, but Shenlong would not take your request to destroy the creature you have awakened. I’m sorry.”

Erato came closer to his host. “So they are real!” He clenched his fists. “Please! Can we not at least try? Is there anyone the Dragon might obey if asked to do such a thing?”

The stranger shook their head. “No. It has nothing to do with obedience- Shenlong simply does not have that kind of power.”

“What about the other two, the other Sundrop Children?”

Erato’s host was taken aback. “Vegeta and Gohan? You would ask Shenlong to erase them?! Why?!”

“The fissure was only half that,” Erato searched for the word, “that giant’s work. The boy, Son Gohan, he was the cause. And the other one, he’s violent to his core. He’s proved that, and is still proving it as we speak!”

The figure crossed their arms behind their back. “I will admit that Vegeta can be difficult when he has a mind to be, but that is not a viable solution.”

“Why?” pried Erato.

“I simply did not give Shenlong that kind of power!” The figure held out their hands. They were a pale green where they poked out of their sleeves.

“You?” said Erato. “You created the Dragon?” He shook away his curiosity and focused on the task at hand. “If the Dragon can’t, can you get rid of these threats?”

“I could never even attempt to do something like that to Gohan.” They shook their head. “And even so, it would go against the very ideal that makes the Earth so precious!”

Erato’s tail flicked from within his pants. “And what is that? Who are you to say that?”

“You came all the way up here without knowing anything about who I am?” 

“I have suspicions, but I don’t exactly like taking mythological whisperings with little recorded evidence as fact.”

The figure chuckled. “That’s funny, coming from the founder and Leader of the Circle of the Inner Flame.”

“If you see us as religious by definition, I’m afraid you are mistaken. Faith in anything supernatural is voluntary.”

“But belief that ki exists is not.” The stranger slipped the scarf off their head and peered at Erato from within a pair of soft, black-rimmed eyes set in a pale green face. “I am the Guardian of Earth. My name is Dende.”

“You’re,” Erato’s voice hushed in awe, “like King Piccolo. You’re a demon!”

Dende shook his head. “Yes and no. We are both Namek. And specifically, my job is to protect the Earth and its incredibly diverse life, and guide it so that its varied, precious life can live in harmony on the same planet. Gohan is part of that, arguably more than either of the other two, though I could not turn my back on any of them. If I did, I couldn’t live with that, nor could I keep my position as the Fifth Guardian.” He shook his head. “You are more than welcome to stay for tea if you like, but if that’s all you have come to discuss, I am afraid I cannot help you.”

Erato growled. “What sort of Guardian can just sit back and let this kind of destruction happen?” He bared his teeth and flattened his ears. He could feel his hair beginning to fall out of place and rise over the back of his neck, but he supposed his disguise was not fooling this Dende. “Is that why the monster Cell was allowed to have his way with this planet, because you couldn’t bring yourself to stop him?!”

Dende’s eyes widened, and for a moment, Erato swore he could hear something in his head- thoughts that were not his own, and a jumbled mess of voices gathered from moments taken from a life that was not his. Then, just as suddenly as they began, they stopped.

Then, Dende closed his eyes. “A Guardian’s role is passive. We remove our egos and watch, and learn, and only intervene when absolutely necessary, much as a Kai does over the four corners of the universe.”

“Kai?” asked Erato. “Nevermind! Doesn’t this situation qualify your actions as necessary?!”

“We follow the tradition of Kais because the first Guardian was a Kai, it’s true.” Dende shook his head. “But I am not a Kai, and this position does not give me absolute power. Besides- this situation may have resolved itself.” He aimed his palm over the gleaming surface of the tile at their feet, and the blue sky it was reflecting rippled like water before fading into an image of people sitting in a house.

A bandaged Terpsichore sat on the bed with Thalia holding him steady and Calliope feeding him something out of a bowl. Across the room, Son Gohan sat next to the giant from the cavern, both wrapped in blankets and surrounded by a pile of food that the giant was carelessly tossing into his mouth.

Erato’s ears popped out of the pins holding them beneath his hair, and stood straight on his head. “They’re alive!”

“Vegeta is in the other room,” said Dende.

“How do I know this is real?!” Erato asked.

“Terpsichore, Calliope, Thalia,” Dende said, like he was addressing them.

The reflected people on the tile all started. In particular, the giant slapped his hands over his ears and looked around wildly.

“Dende?” asked Thalia.

“What is Thalia doing there?” asked Erato. “How does she know you?”

Thalia’s eyes grew wide. “Erato?!”

A huge weight lifted off Erato’s shoulders. “You can hear me?!”

“Where are you?” Thalia asked. It sounds like we’re sitting inside your mouth while you talk!”

Son Gohan spoke up from his corner. “Everyone’s alive,” he said. “All communication lines are down, though, so don’t expect any phone calls from them in the next few days.”

“Thank you, Gohan,” said Dende. Erato did not miss the way he smiled. “Are you alright?”

Thalia cut in. “Hey, Erato! That giant, the one in the cave- he’s a Sundrop Child, too! They all are! They’re something called a,” she looked over at Gohan, “what did you say it was?”

“Saiyan,” Terpsichore supplied.

“That,” said Thalia. “They’ve got tails, but they’re not human- and they’re not Animal People, either!”

“What?” said Erato. “How can that be?!”

“Thank you, Thalia,” said Dende. “I will take it from here. Please keep yourselves alive!” He waved his hand, and the image in the floor faded. He smiled back at Erato. “Does that help put you at ease?”

Truthfully, Erato’s mind was reeling. Half of him was relieved that Son Gohan and the giant were not some kind of hybrid experiment forced into being the same way that Erato was, but at the same time…

...if they were not human, not Animal People, and not hybrids, what were they?

“Come,” said Dende. “Calm yourself over some tea. Mister Popo has a wonderful blend he makes himself from his garden. I’m sure you will enjoy it.” He grinned. “He’s made it with catnip this time, just for you!”

\---

Eighteen checked the digital map in her hands one last time. The West City sewer pipeline gaped open before her like the mouth of a moaning whale. 

“You’re in the right place,” Clio said over the airwaves. “Don’t worry! Just come on in until you can’t go any farther.”

“So you know, I’m going to kill your three brothers and rat master, too, if I find them in there, too,” Eighteen said.

“Cowabunga, dude!” Clio said, his voice full of mirth. And then, impatiently, “But I’m not a turtle. Get in.”

Eighteen snorted and stepped into the dark tunnel. The city’s use of Capsule Corps technology on their houses and smaller buildings had slowly been removing the need for places like this, since the same water was purified and recycled on site instead of sent through the city’s system. It was one of the Briefs’ more ingenious ideas, in Eighteen’s opinion, and the Briefs had a lot of ingenious ideas. 

Paradoxically, this sewer system was also built from their product, years ago. The metal supports and pipes feeding into the main line bore the no-rust signature matte of the older iteration of the Capsule Corp logo, and the walkways on the sides of the enormous pipe showed the same in chipped paint on concrete cracked from age. The light at Eighteen’s back bounced off the slow, tranquil stream of water meandering down the center of the pipe, and then eventually faded completely. She ignited a light in her hand and held it above her head.

“When you hit the end, go left,” Clio said. “Then, take the third right.” He held his nose and fed her more directions with all the inflection and excitement of an outdated GPS system. “Not that one. Recalculating.”

Eighteen followed his instructions until she reached a dead end. Her energy illuminated a crudely drawn spray-paint mural of a rabbit, and an arrow pointing downwards. “Now what?” she asked.

Clio cackled, and then the floor beneath her feet disappeared.

Eighteen plummeted down the rabbit hole and landed squarely on her ass before she remembered that she knew how to fly, and then looked around in utter bewilderment.

It was dark, first of all, but an eerie glow emanated from beyond a corner not far in front of her, and reflected off the pipes protruding across the ceiling and undulating together like a mass of rigid snakes. She quickly pulled out her digital map from her pocket to see where exactly in West City she was.

No reception. Of course. She put the device away and crept forwards along the wall. Eighteen discovered that the wall in front of her was a partition screen covered in black fabric, like the kind usually reserved for convention centers, and she nearly tripped over all the styrofoam to-go boxes, metal odds and ends, and discarded produce littering the ground. Still, Eighteen held her nose above the garbage and stepped deeper into the light.

In the center of the room, a single, cold, focused spotlight shone down on a metal operating table. A man laid upon it. Wires and tubes poured out of his arm and the back of his head like a thick, corded river, and whatever else was beyond him was shrouded by another set of shadows and black curtains both containing the light to sit above him.

Eighteen stepped on part of a chewed eggplant, and her scramble to regain her footing echoed eerily in the space and awakened the man on the table. His body jerked unnaturally as he started, and when he spotted Eighteen, his dilated pupils sparkled with glee as he awkwardly slid off the table, like all of his arms and legs were too stiff to move correctly.

“You,” Eighteen said, examining his face. “You’re from the tournament.”

“Ma’am,” Melpomene answered. His scarred face moved more like a man’s and less like a machine’s, like someone else had taken control of the body Eighteen herself had broken the last time they met. Melpomene even smiled, and held out his hand like a child would towards a mother’s skirts. Styrofoam boxes and paper slipped out from his unsteady feet, and the machines on the other end of the mane of wires protruding from his head lurched forward in alarm as he stumbled and caught himself on the side of the metal table. “Ma’am,” Melpomene repeated, straightening himself out and reaching towards her.

Eighteen backed away.

“I w-a-anted to t-tell you.” Melpomene’s eyelids and mouth clumsily twitched and sputtered as if he were fighting to keep them open but they demanded he let them close. “I, I w-wa-anted to--!” he stumbled forward, his machines screaming with friction as they scurried behind him on metal feet.

When he reached for her hand, Eighteen swatted him away and steadied a glowing ball of energy in front of his face. Her resistance sent Melpomene to his shaking knees.

“I wan-t-ted to tell y-you,” he repeated, his glassy eyes reflecting the light of death back at its wielder. 

Eighteen held her arm steady. “Where’s Clio?”

“You’re,” Melpomene mumbled, “You’re beaut-i-i-h,” he hiccupped, “beautifu-ul.” Something wet ran down his cheek. “Don’t l-let h-him,” He hiccupped again, and swayed to the right, his eyes falling closed and then forcing themselves back open, “ch-an-g-ge you. Don’t.”

Fingers wrapped in latex appeared out of the laboratory’s shrouded depths, and curled around the side of Melpomene’s thick neck. Eighteen jumped despite herself. A syringe creeped out of the darkness next, and emptied itself into Melpomene’s veins.

“Poor thing,” said the figure holding the syringe, his body still cast in shadow. “Go back to sleep before you make an even bigger fool of yourself.” Melpomene’s chin sank to his chest as if on cue, and a white sleeve came into view as the figure in the dark steadied the huge man by the shoulders.

Eighteen trained her energy on them both, and sprayed light everywhere. “Who are you and where is Clio?”

Melpomene’s sandman stepped out into the light- except he was no man at all, but a hare. He wore a series of lenses over one eye that gleamed like the moon on ocean waters in the yellow glow of Eighteen’s ki. He grinned and showed off a series of filed teeth behind his flat, elongated buck ones, like he was a demon wearing the mask of a different animal over his real face. “Why, I’m Clio,” he said, chuckling. “It’s wonderful to meet you, miss Lazuli- or, rather, miss Eighteen Son.”

“Shut up. I’ve got what you want,” Eighteen spat, reaching into her pocket and holding up the capsule with the remains of the strange, round ship from the Tsumitsumbri Mountains inside of it. “So get the bomb out of my husband so I can go ahead and gouge your brain from your head.”

Clio turned to face her head on, his mouth turned down into a bemused frown. “That’s all? No small talk? No haggling? No curiosity over my nefarious plan? No nothing?” He clicked his tongue, and then reached down to put his syringe into his pocket. “Fine, fine.”

“Turn out your pockets,” she commanded. “Don’t try anything funny, or I blow us all up, right now.”

Clio brightened and showed off his odd teeth. “See? That’s more like it!” He enthusiastically flipped his pockets inside-out and then took off his lab coat and shook it. Nothing fell out except a carrot, the used syringe, and some lint. “Clean! Clean! I’m totally clean! I even washed this last month, so it’s even cleaner than usual!” He dropped the coat and held his paws aloft at either side of his head, totally naked besides his thick fur. “Nothing! I’ve got nothing! Ha!” Clio offered his open paw. “Anything else, or can I have that now?”

“Get that thing out of my husband,” Eighteen repeated.

“Oh.” Clio nodded. “Right. That.” He scratched at his ear, hopped to his computer, and clicked a few buttons on his keyboard. “So, what was it? A pair of tweezers? Or a scalpel left in him, maybe. That’d be pretty awful!”

“The bomb, you flea-bitten snake!”

“Bomb?!” Clio flicked his tail and then turned around, a paw on his chest and his expression absolutely flabbergasted. Then, he broke out into a huge grin and started cackling. “There’s no bomb, you stupid bimbo! There was never a bomb at all!” He snorted. “I can’t believe you fell for it!”

If Eighteen said anything back to that, it was nothing in the face of the blackout rage that momentarily overtook her and pushed out all rational thought with a cloying urgency. She flattened her hand and stabbed it at Clio, right at his heart. 

It never connected. Eighteen’s body lost feeling the instant she raised her arm, and she fell to the ground not a millisecond later, limp. She could still see, but her eyes could not move in their sockets, nor could she speak.

Clio flipped her over with his foot and stared down at her. “You know,” he said, bending down and picking up the little capsule she had dropped on her way down, “There are folks who would kill to be in my position right now.”

Eighteen struggled, but it did not show. Clio bounced over to her and began to methodically undo her shirt, and then her pants. The light above the operating table reflected off of his goggles and caught on the edges of his whiskers as he worked.

Eighteen panicked, but more than that, she hated. She hated this hare more than anything or anyone she had ever hated in her life. Something hot and roiling churned in her stomach and up her esophagus, and she started to scream, still trapped in her own head.

Clio paused in his work and planted his paws firmly on his haunches. “Oh, don’t think that. I know what it is you’re thinking, and I can promise you that you’re wrong.” The light from the operating table invaded the plains of his face and danced along the edge of his quivering nose. “You had me strip to make sure I had nothing on me, so I’d be an idiot not to do the same with you! You’re clever enough to be dangerous, and don’t think for a second I don’t know it.” He patted her hand and refastened all of her clothes. “Constantly underestimated, you are. You’re a woman in a man’s world, and I’m an Animal Person in a man’s world. I get it. But you and me, we’re on opposing sides, and so I’ll do whatever I have to in order to cut you off at the knees.” Hoarse, hysterical laughter suddenly erupted from his throat and shook his whole frame while his breath and spittle assaulted Eighteen’s paralyzed face. “So you just keep on lying there and letting me like a good girl! You stupid bitch! Hahaha!”

Eighteen fantasized about shoving her fist straight down his unprotected throat and pulling up his heart.

Clio finished laughing, finally. “I’m nothing like Gero’s kind, understand.” His sharp teeth smiled down at her in the most distorted mix of anger and glee she had ever seen. “I’m much, much worse.” His goggles gleamed maliciously. “Aren’t you excited? I’m excited. A fresh, new cyborg doll for me to take apart and put back together! Yet another of that crazy old man’s weird treasures, just for me! All for me!” He cackled again and searched the detritus around them both for something or another. “He never deserved you, anyway.”

A prolonged scraping of metal-on-concrete and a clumsy crash rang out into the room from behind Eighteen. Clio looked up, but the metal operating table collided into him face-first before he could say a word about it. Huge, clumsy hands grabbed Eighteen and lifted her up, and then they both stumbled towards the entrance on sluggish, uncoordinated feet.

“Mach-machines in here,” Melpomene said. His words slurred together like his jaw had fallen asleep in the middle of them. “Jammed.” His shoulder collided with one of the cloth partitions, and Eighteen saw something fleshy and warped suspended in a tube of gently bubbling liquid, and then a row of more tubes as Melpomene struggled to right both of them and fight his way to the exit. Behind them, she heard Clio scream Melpomene’s name and push away the metal table. The huge man regained his balance and clumsily approached the hatch Eighteen had first fallen through, and then shot an uneven burst of ki at it. The scent of burned flesh mingled with the upturned dust and smoke, as if Melpomene had cast himself alight, too.

“Gonna,” he said, “throw you. Fl-fly. Now. N-n-n-ow. Now.” he planted his feet and tossed Eighteen’s limp body upwards, towards the exit he had created.

Eighteen willed herself to start levitating, desperate to move on her own again and terrified that, in the next moment, she would find herself crashing back down to earth and into Clio’s clutches, but at the apex of her ascent, her body seized violently, and then responded to her once again. She scrambled onto the concrete floor of the sewer passage and peered down at Melpomene.

“Run!” he said. “Don-don’t worry! Run!” He fell to the floor, and then something metallic and clawed shot out of the space behind him and up out of the hole. Eighteen barely dodged it as it lodged into the wall, and then severed it with a swift kick.

Clio’s goggles leered up at her with an unnatural light as he fiddled with some sort of remote control.

“Run!” choked out Melpomene as he threw his body on top of Clio. Eighteen did not need to be told again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, as always!
> 
> I've started my own original story, too, so there's that!


	41. Into the Door

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The newest destination is decided.

It was morning on the mountain. The silvery dew coating the treetops had yet to turn to fog, and the birds warming their voices blinked up at the seven figures fighting the blinding rays of daybreak as they made their way from the sky to the clearing outside the lone houses and camps of Mount Paozu- a giant cowering on a cloud, a demon, an enslaved Prince, a child, a broken man curled in a stout warrior’s arms, and a somber king.

The moment the Nimbus lighted the soil, the giant scrambled down from the cloud and scuttled over to Calliope in his clumsy half-crawl, half-walk, and then curled up around her.

Terpsichore’s energy fluctuated and he tensed, but Thalia shook her head and waited to set him down on the ground. “It’s fine,” she said.

Gohan picked up the bag of winter clothes from the Nimbus without a word, and started towards his house.

“Gohan,” said Piccolo, matching his stride, “Is this really the place to bring them?”

“I can’t think of a better place to go,” admitted Gohan. “I’m tired. They’re tired. I need to make sure my mother knows where I am, and figure out what to do about all these people camping here on the mountain.” He glanced at Piccolo. “You saw them, right?”

“What are you going to say about Vegeta?”

Gohan looked over at him. Vegeta’s blank stare offered no input one way or the other. The clean, silver-white gleam of the circlet glinted eerily from within the black of his hair beneath the morning sun, and his hands fell loosely at his sides.

“I,” began Gohan. His focus broke as the front door opened and his mother stepped out.

“Gohan!” she shouted. “Where have you been?!” She wiped her hands off on her apron and hurried from the doorway. “Why didn’t you tell anyone where you went?! Do you know how worried I--!” she saw Piccolo, and diverted to him. “You!” 

Piccolo’s eyes bugged out of his green head. “This isn’t about me!”

Chi Chi soldiered forth. “Where has he been?! Where’d you take him?! Has he eaten?!”

Bulma came out of the house next, with Goten and her son at her short skirts and the enormous Hass Anillo behind her.

“Vegeta!” she exclaimed, and hurried towards him.

Piccolo blocked her. “Hold that thought right now,” he said. “We have some explaining to do.” He looked over his shoulder at where Broly sat curled around Calliope, chewing on his own hair while he looked around at the forest and mountains with wide, shining eyes.

“Uh, said Goten, squeezing past Piccolo’s legs and popping out from beneath his cape, “Who’s that?” He approached the giant, but his face lit up as he saw the girl. “Hey! Calliope!”

“Calliope?” Trunks poked his head out from behind Piccolo’s cape as well.

“Boys, get back,” Gohan warned, putting his hands on Trunks’ shoulder. But Goten slipped past him and came face-to-face with the stranger on his mountain.

The giant dropped his hair from his open mouth as he spotted Goten. He started to shake and glow while Terpsichore’s half-formed barriers shredded the grass around him as he pulled Calliope away before the giant could rip her in two in his newfound fury.

“What’s set him off?!” Thalia whirled around to Calliope, who only shook her head and looked at Goten.

“Ka,” said the goliath, raising a hand with five bent fingers held squarely at the level of Goten’s head. “Kaka,” the veins in his head bulged, and redness spread from his forehead down to the rest of his face, “Kak’rot! Kak’rot!”

Kakarot- it was the giant’s first word. His fists left punctures in the ground as he charged Goten on all fours and with spit flying from the corners of his mouth. Gohan’s own energy bubbled up from him in ugly, uncontrolled spurts, and he thrust out his hands to blast the giant to kingdom come like Vegeta wanted, consequences be damned, if it really should come to it. 

He never had to. It was Terpsichore who stopped his rampage- he appeared as if on a gust of wind, and pressed his Twin Fangs into the giant’s forehead and sternum, and then to six other places down the center of his body. When the giant gripped Terpsichore’s body in his massive fist to push him away, the dancer still fell to the side, but miraculously still in one piece.

The giant also fell to the ground in a puddle of snotty, screaming tears.

“Terpsichore!” Thalia cried, and hobbled to his side, followed by the alarmed footfalls of Calliope.

“Who’s that?” Trunks asked, aiming a quirked, bewildered eyebrow at the giant, who wailed and flailed in Goten’s direction.

“He’s,” Gohan bristled. “He’s--!”

“He can’t stay here,” Terpsichore interjected. “He can’t!”

“Kak’rot!” screamed the giant. “Kak’rot. Kakarot!”

“Gohan?” asked Goten, his brow furrowed. “Why does he have a tail?”

A dull, white-hot, muffled roaring pulsed in Gohan’s ears. He couldn’t think of a word to say, and he couldn’t even find his voice to say whatever he might come up with. He could only find anger, and it choked him.

“He’s a Saiyan, right? Do you know him, Vegeta?” asked Bulma. “Vegeta?” She took a step closer to him and brushed her short, blue hair from her eyes. “Vegeta, why aren’t you answering?”

Piccolo shook his head. “Bulma, he can’t speak.”

“What? Why not?!”

“I’m not Kakarot,” Goten muttered. “I’m not.”

Chi Chi’s worried, high voice joined the fray. “Gohan! Gohan, what’s happening?”

The veins in Gohan’s head twitched. He could feel it. He put the heel of his hand over his eye and pressed down over it, like he could keep his feelings inside his own head if he pressed hard enough. Some of the elderly villagers of Fire Mountain poked their heads from the doors of their domed houses and homemade lean-tos to watch the commotion unfolding in the middle of the yard. Gohan felt like an animal in a zoo.

“Father, what’s wrong?”

“Why can’t Vegeta speak? Piccolo! Why isn’t he moving? He’s barely blinking! Piccolo!”

“Who is this green-haired person?! An’ isn’t that the little girl from the tournament?”

“It doesn’t matter who we are! He can’t stay here- that’s what’s important!”

“Terpsichore, there’s nowhere else to go! We should find Erato. Where was he?!”

“Thalia, please…”

“Kak’rot! Kak’rot! Uwaaaaaaaaah!”

Gohan’s head start to throb, like the band on Vegeta’s head was really wrapped around his own, squeezing tighter and tighter and tighter with each word everyone spoke.

“Is this related to the earthquakes? Wh-what?! He has a tail?!”

“Who is this, though?! How can I make him stop crying? Is he hungry?”

“Uraaaaaah! Uuuuuuuhhhhuuuuughhhh! Kak’rot!”

Gohan pushed everything away with a quick press of his fists into the open air and a momentary explosion of golden temper. “Be quiet! Everyone!”

And they were- even the giant, who sucked in his next exclamation with a line of drool and snot speckled with dirt and grass from the ground.

“Gohan,” said Terpsichore, cautious.

“I know!” Gohan whirled around to face Terpsichore. 

The man’s body quaked, and his face was white and shining with nervous sweat beneath his green hair. 

“I know that! But it’s not your choice to make, is it?!” Gohan turned around and skulked towards his house, but stopped cold when he saw the shaded silhouette of the figure staring out of his bedroom window and straight at him.

When she realized she was also being watched, Sevoya moved away from the gauzy, pale curtains and hid somewhere deeper in the house. 

Gohan put his hands on his temples and stared at the wooden siding, then the garden, and then the ground. The air smelled like damp soil and split wood, and Gohan could pick out the smoke of last night’s fires from its long-cooled ashes and the sharp, distinct scent of the sap bleeding from the growing pines lining the rest of the mountain. It was sharp, and it was annoying. Everything was too much- even the sun shining on his back was too bright and too revealing. His tail thrashed behind him as the wind dared to play with its fur. He needed a place to think and be alone, where nobody could find them.

Piccolo took a step forwards. “Gohan,” he started.

Gohan decided. “The Lookout,” he said, turning around. “The Hyperbolic Time Chamber.” He looked at the giant wallowing in the dirt and his own tears. “I’ll take him there.”

\---

Gohan’s arrival and sudden departure chased everyone out of the Son household, and Sevoya took her chance to escape on her own when she fled from the window. The outside air was heating up as the sun climbed higher in the sky, and the trees looked so similar that Sevoya may as well have been in a maze until she found a creek and followed it up the uneven mountain terrain to a waterfall pooling into its source.

The shade from the trees made speckles over the cool, grey rock made smooth from the water splattering on it for years and years, and displaced by the network of the forest’s roots burrowing into it and taking it apart. The froth from the falling water split into barely-there bubbles on the calmer surface of the pool at the bottom. Alongside them, pine needles and leaves were tiny boats floating with the gentle current, and then sped up as the water in the pool fed the creek and rushed down the mountain. A few fish chased them from beneath the surface.

Sevoya settled down in the nook of a kidney-shaped boulder to look at the sky and think about what she should do with herself now. 

She could go back and confront her father, but then what? What would that do? What would she say? Would it matter?

“Gee, I’m sorry I got mad about how you always clammed up about what was happening in the world,” Sevoya muttered to a chittering monkey examining a bug in the branches above her. “Also, you were right about high school boys. They don’t do drugs, but it turns out they’re actually wild animals ready to rip you apart, so.” 

The monkey ate the bug and grinned at her, juice and legs smeared in its teeth. 

“Thanks for the warning! You were right. You were always right, in your own special little way.” She smoothed down her skirt and stuck her legs out over the rock, and then almost shat a brick when she heard voices nearby.

She tumbled ungracefully from the top of the boulder and stuck her head out over the top to see who was there. Hopefully the sound of the waterfall covered for her.

The creek rippled lightly in the wake of Goten and Trunks’ arrival, and the fish gathered to the surface to ogle the two boys as they settled on a rock and looked right back down at them.

Goten had a pair of scissors, and he held them out to Trunks.

“You sure you wanna do this?” Trunks asked. He took the scissors and then pulled the blades open and shut in front of his face like the jaws of an animal. “What’re you gonna tell your mom?”

Goten shook his head. “Dunno. Don’t care,” he clarified. “Just cut it.”

Trunks nodded at the scissors, his own blue hair bobbing and gleaming like the water beneath the sunlight. “Um. Hm. Okay.” He picked up a huge chunk and clipped it off with the scissors. The remaining ends fell limply against his head like a wilted plant. He took another section and clipped it, too. They were horribly mismatched in length.

Trunks had enough professional pride to feel self-conscious about his work. “Uh…”

Goten turned around to look at Trunks, and Sevoya got a better view of his uneven hair- one side of it leaned sharply to the right, and the other was a short poof affixed to the side of his skull. She snorted from across the water.

Goten sat straight up. “Whuwuzzat?” His eyes grew huge and he scanned the forest with an owl-like gaze. Sevoya ducked behind her rock and covered her mouth.

Distantly, she heard Trunks say, “Dude! Are you seriously sniffing the air?! What are you, a dog?” and then, suddenly, Goten’s shod foot peeked around her boulder. He took a deep whiff of the air, eyes closed, and then cracked open his eyes to squint at her.

Sevoya gaped back at him. “My god. You really are wild animals. You are all wild animals. Every one of you is a wild fucking animal.” She grimaced. “Or I really need a shower.” She braved an examination of her own armpits and was met with the visceral musk of her own stink. “Oh,” she said. “Shit.” 

Then, she remembered Goten’s age. “I mean--! Uh! Sh-shoot! Shoot! I definitely said shoot!”

Goten shook his head matter-of-factly. “Mom says I’m not s’posed to say it, but shit’s right. Trunks smells worse, though.”

“Hey!” The other boy called. “I heard that!”

Goten held a hand out for Sevoya to take. “Can you help me cut my hair?” he asked. “Trunks isn’t very good at it.”

“Well, duh! I’ve never done that before! Sorry I’m not a hairdresser.”

“Where’s everybody else?” Sevoya asked. She took Goten’s hand and stood. The dirt stuck to her butt and she brushed it off with an annoyed hand.

Goten shrugged and floated over to the other side of the water, where Trunks was. “They’re fighting about something in the house.”

Sevoya walked to the narrowest part of the pond and hopped over it. The mud squished under her shoes.

“You picked a good time to leave,” Trunks said. “They kicked us out when we tried to eavesdrop, right, and Gohan looked like he was ready to blast everybody sky high if they disobeyed, so.” He crossed his arms and pouted. “I knew I shoulda stayed with Polymnia.” Then, he wiped a tear Sevoya hadn’t noticed from his face with the back of his hand. “Maybe Goten and I should both go. Be better than this.” He leaned against another moss-covered boulder lining the water pooling from the falls to supervise, and held out the scissors to Sevoya.

Sevoya took them, and then carded her fingers through Goten’s uneven hair to try and decipher how on earth she should do this. “Don’t do that. Your parents would get worried about you.”

Trunks snorted. “That’s rich, coming from you.” His eyes sparkled with the subdued, short-term malice of a bully. 

Sevoya noticed that his pupils weren’t black, but a darker shade of the blue ringed around them. 

“Your dad? I know you can’t tell because he’s huge, but he stopped eating ‘cause he was so worried about you. He looked sick for days, even when he was gettin’ into it with Polymnia. I thought we were gonna have to bury him if something didn’t happen.”

Sevoya trimmed the disparate ends of Trunks’s earlier work on Goten’s head so they were even. “Listen, snot,” she said. “Do you want your mom to go through what I made my dad go through, or what? Is that okay with you?”

Trunks glowered at her, and then the water. “No…”

“Then shut up.” She started on the rest of Goten’s split ends. “Learn from my mistakes.”

“Hmph. Yeah. But are you gonna learn from ‘em?” Trunks was back at it again. “I don’t exactly see you running back to your dad for a nice, big reunion now that he’s here. Or do you just not care?”

Goten piped up. “Trunks, stop it. It’s not fair to be mad at people who didn’t do anything.”

“‘Snot fair that my father can’t move!” Trunks roared. “‘Snot fair that Gohan gets to throw around his power like it lets him do whatever he wants! ‘Snot fair that all those people in the city…” He clenched his teeth, and Sevoya swore that the leaves and water in the pool skittered away from him rather than get pushed away by the wind.

Sevoya quirked an eyebrow. “Do go on. Expand on that. About Gohan.” She leaned into Trunks. “I’m real interested. What’s he done?”

Trunks’s eyes burned like embers, and Sevoya realized he didn’t have any pupils at all- just a darker center in his eye.

“It doesn’t matter,” Trunks said, kicking a pebble into the water. “We don’t get to know yet, ‘cause the adults don’t even know what’s going on. Nobody knows.”

The drop of boots on rock plunked down on the other side of the pond from Sevoya, and she nearly cut off Goten’s ear when she saw Videl standing in them. Her hair was falling out of a messy bun, and she had a black eye, two scraped knees, and utter exhaustion wafting from her pores.

“Found you!” Videl said. “So this is where you went.”

“Vi-Videl!” Sevoya choked out. 

The girl nodded. “Yeah?”

“I- I- I-!” She swallowed. “I’ve been avoiding you!”

Trunks squinted at Sevoya while Goten just observed with the same big, semi-vacant eyes as his brother.

“I know,” Videl said. She scratched her head. “And that’s, well, I’ve decided that it’s whatever you want, at this point, but,” She kicked at a clump of mud Sevoya had displaced earlier, “I’m really sorry. About, um, about everything.”

Sevoya looked at the two boys, and then at Videl. “Oh.” She cleared her throat. “I’m- I’m sorry, too. I didn’t, uh, I didn’t mean to, to, to…”

“Tell me the truth straight to my face?” Videl shrugged, and then winced, like it hurt to move her shoulders. “Yeah, that’s not so much a good idea all the time with me.” She tried and failed to shrug again. “Or with the rest of the world! Or,” she grinned, painfully. “Or with Gohan? I guess.”

Sevoya closed the scissors and fiddled with the handle. The weight of her necklace pressed into her skin more keenly than it had any right to. “He told you about that?”

Videl shook her head and held a hand at her head, again making the complaints from her muscles known on her face. “No, the little… the guy. Dende. You know him? I haven’t met him met him- not really- but he, like, talked to me.” She wrinkled her nose. “In my head. Apparently he was here at some point?”

The hair on the back of Sevoya’s neck stood on end. She focused on the way the water beneath the falls churned and rippled like clear, iridescent fabric waving in a violent, unseen wind as she tried to eject Dende’s soft, otherworldly face from her mind’s eye. Whatever tension had drained from Sevoya’s shoulders from Videl’s apology came back with a vengeance. “Yeah.”

“Weird little guy.”

“Yeah. Really weird”

“Yeah.”

“Mm.” Videl nodded. “Anyway, I’m sorry. I’m also really sorry about your mother.”

“We’ll start a dead parents club,” Sevoya said. “We’ll make t-shirts.” She pointed at Trunks. “Except him.” She spared the boy a glance. “Sorry.”

“Yeah, like I’d want that,” Trunks sassed. 

Goten snickered.

Videl grinned, too, and then tapped her thighs awkwardly as the waterfall, birds, and chittering animal spectators tried and failed to fill the awkward silence. “So, um, anyways.” She pointed at Goten’s half-styled head. “When you’re done with whatever you’re doing with him, can you do it to mine? Tien Shinhan grabbed me by the hair and elbowed me in the face twice today, and I think I should probably take the hint.”

“Betcha it’s ‘cause he’s jealous he can’t grow any,” sneered Trunks.

“Is that it?” asked Goten. “Does having three eyes mean you gotta be bald?”

“He’s got three eyes?” Sevoya said. “That bald guy?! What! Ask him.”

“No way! Ask him yourself. He’ll probably do something to make me bald, if I asked him something like that,” Videl said.

Sevoya snipped the scissors ominously. “I mean, I dunno. Maybe it’d be a good look for you?”

Videl took to the air and playfully scooped up a handful of water to toss at the three of them with a burst of newfound energy. “No way! Don’t you dare! If you make me a skinhead, I might transform into him!”

\---

Dende smiled as Gohan lighted on the Lookout’s gleaming tiles, followed by his four companions. They looked as tired as Dende felt; Gohan’s eyes were almost as dark and serious as Piccolo’s, and Terpsichore and Thalia’s bruises spoke for themselves. Behind him, cowering on the Nimbus, the giant’s huge body was wrapped in an ornate red and gold robe Dende recognized as one of the Ox King’s. It was tied at the waist with a teal sash and white rope.

Thalia’s mouth was open in wonder, like she could suck in what she was seeing and take it with her. The sweat and blood had dried in her short red hair, and it stuck up in every direction above her freckled face.

“So we finally meet in person. Hello, again,” Dende said, smiling at Thalia, Terpsichore, and then the giant, who was cowering behind the Nimbus. “Hello! Erato left from here a few hours ago. Welcome. I am Dende.”

“What is this place?” Terpsichore blinked down at his own reflection blinking back at him from the surface of the tile. “And him… is this your demonic child?” He examined Dende and Piccolo with a grimace.

Dende chuckled as Piccolo delivered a deep, bored, absolute “No.”

“This is a sacred place,” Thalia said, ignoring Terpsichore’s adamant scowl. “You wouldn’t get it, dancer, so don’t worry about it.” She winked, and then smiled at Dende. “Say, Dende, where is your master, the Guardian? They’re, uh, they’re here, right?”

The Guardian Dende smiled. “Yes, I would say I’m here.”

Realization dawned on Thalia’s face, and the color drained from it like water down a funnel. She bowed low, and then straightened up to grab Terpsichore by the back of the neck and force his head down, too. A huge gust of air ballooned from his feet as he sped away.

“What are you doing?!” he cried. Terpsichore put up a half-formed barrier before dropping it again. “This isn’t the time for games, Thalia!” His hands shook and his hair moved like pale seaweed in the ocean’s current.

“That’s the Guardian of Earth, you dipshit! Show some respect! That’s god!”

If Terpsichore could shoot beams from his eyes like a Namek, Dende would have been fried to a pile of ash. “What? You?” He inhaled deeply, and violently. “You?!”

From the Nimbus, the giant craned his head around to look at Terpsichore like a cat watching a bird. His tail swatted at the air in even, definite strokes. 

Gohan noticed.

“Terpsichore,” he warned, “If you set him off, no amount of distance is going to save Calliope when he blows us all to kingdom come. There’ll have been no point in leaving her at my house. Do you want that?”

Terpsichore grit his teeth and brought his trembling hands to a stop. “Demons,” he muttered. Dende could hear the heart in his chest still fighting to get out, and could feel the energy churning inside him, like Terpsichore was nothing more than a vessel built to hold a tempest, just like Gohan was. “All of you are demons. All of you. This is Hell.” He fell to his knees and slumped down into a heap, fighting a silent war with his reflection.

“I apologize for not climbing the tower,” Thalia said. “I meant no disrespect. However, I would--”

Dende cut her off. “I can’t train you.” He smiled gently at her baffled expression. “I know about you and your family, Thalia. Most of the secrets of the Guardians- the old ones, not Kami,” he nodded at the Nameless Namek, “nor myself, but the ones before us- your ancestors learned them, and then taught their future generations the secrets. I couldn’t teach you anything about combat or martial training you don’t already know!”

“I can still train with you using what I already know!” Thalia said, leaning forwards over her hands and knees. “Training with another person is--!”

Dende sighed. “That’s not it. The Guardians before me were warriors, and powerful beyond measure. But I am not.” He held his hands out over her to knit her broken and bruised flesh back together. “I am just a healer. Terpsichore,” he held out a hand to the despondent man. “If you will allow me, I can heal you, as well.”

“You’re a lying devil,” Terpsichore growled. 

Gohan narrowed his eyes, and Dende knew exactly what he was thinking behind his eerie facade. It was violent. 

Piccolo put a hand on Gohan’s shoulder, because he knew it, too.

“You’re waiting. You’re just waiting. You don’t know anything about me,” Terpsichore hissed. “But you can’t fool me. I know what you are.” He spat at Piccolo. “Don’t think I forgot.”

“Leif,” Dende tried. “The choice is always yours. You are allowed to hurt all you want. But I am not a demon.”

“Leif?” Thalia muttered.

If Dende didn’t know better, he would have thought that Terpsichore had turned into a statue, doomed to gaze into the hearts of visitors with a look of absolute hate. But soon, life returned to his body and he screwed his eyes shut. 

“Fine,” he said. “Do what you will.”

Dende strode over to him and showered him in a soft light. “Thank you for trusting me,” he said. “And thank you for choosing to help Gohan, in the end.”

“You say that like you know what I’m thinking.” The heat was gone from Terpsichore’s voice, but eyes didn’t open. “But I can’t. If he stays like this- if I stay like this, I can’t.”

Dende smiled. “You’re doing better than you think you are,” he said. “None of you have killed each other yet!” He turned to smile at Thalia, who was trying and failing to sneak around him and ogle as Terpsichore’s joints popped back into place and his skin became healthy and new.

“Teach me to do that,” Thalia said. “Did you know? That’s stupid- of course you know- I wanted to be a physical therapist. Fuck this fighting bullshit. But that thing you’re doing? I want to know about whatever that thing you’re doing is. In fact, why don’t--!”

Gohan cleared his throat. “You can talk about that later. Dende, I’m going to take this guy into the Hyperbolic Time Chamber with me.” He nodded at the giant dressed in the dead Ox King’s clothing. “Is that alright?”

Dende stood up and stepped over to Gohan. “Objectively, yes, but are you sure? That’s a long time to be left alone with yourself and,” he peered intently at the giant, who was sucking on his tail and swatting at a yellow butterfly, “Broly.”

“That’s what I told him,” Piccolo grumbled, crossing his arms.

Gohan’s frown deepened. “He has a name?”

Dende nodded. “Saiyans remember everything since the moment they are born. He simply can’t speak to say it, yet, is all.”

“Can you tell me anything else about him?” Gohan asked.

Dende closed his eyes and focused on the giant. Communication without language was easy, but a two-way street, and if Broly did not want to participate, there was no point in pressing him any farther. 

Dende knocked on his mental walls, and felt a wave of surprise and disproportionate fright sour into fury and flow through him in return. Broly screeched.

“Whatever it is you’re doing, don’t do it,” Thalia said. “Bad plan. Bad plan!”

Dende stopped, and Broly calmed down. 

“...No, I can’t tell you any more than that right now,” said Dende. He thought for a moment. “Would you like to take some of the textbooks you left here into the Chamber? It would be good if he could read and write.”

Gohan rubbed the back of his neck, and then his forehead. “I don’t see any reason why not.”

“Alright,” said Dende. He gripped at his robes, because he knew reaching for Gohan’s hands was a poor idea, today. “Please be careful.”

Gohan reached out for Dende, instead, and squeezed his hand. Dende squeezed back.

“It’ll pass, one way or another,” Gohan said. 

“It always does,” agreed Dende.

Seven years ago, he had watched Gohan change from himself into a bloodthirsty, angry monster and lose himself in fury from this very spot. But Gohan had come back to him as himself, in the end. Surely, this was the same.

If only that hatred would have died once and forever instead of reviving

“Hey,” said Thalia, “Are we just escorts, or are we going into the Chamber thing, too?”

“No,” said Piccolo.

\---

The Hyperbolic Time Chamber was old, but ageless. Gohan knew it well from the other side, but sometimes the severe entrance beneath the columns and clocks stood wide open in his dreams, with his father standing inside. He would run inside and the door would shut behind him, and where there had been light, there was then only darkness.

Today, Mister Popo held open the door and beckoned them inside. Gohan led Broly into the light and hoped it wouldn’t escape and leave them the moment the Chamber swallowed them.

Behind him, the door creaked shut. But before it could close with a final, austere thud, Gohan felt something suddenly breeze past his shoulder and into the room.

Terpsichore’s foot touched the white ground on the inside of the Chamber with a click just as the doorway closed.

“Yeah,” said Thalia, her arms around Terpsichore’s waist and her short hair dancing wildly as the wind around them died down, “No. We’re coming, anyway.”


	42. Wrong Number, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clio does his best to make a phone call. Yes, he’ll hold.

Eighteen knew it was rude to drop into someone’s yard by jetcopter unannounced, especially when they already had company and their own problems, but she couldn’t be bothered to question why an entire village of capsule houses and tents had sprung up around the Son household, nor was she going to let it stop her. 

It gave her husband pause, though. “What are all these people doing here?” he asked, supine in the backseat with his knees up to support his wounded abdomen. “And why are they all old?”

With the other white, pristine, and plain domes around for comparison, Chi Chi and Gohan’s home looked like some kind of cybernetically enhanced creature. The extra wooden fixtures and rooms hung off the central alabaster dome like artificial appendages added onto an otherwise mundane animal. It was a steam-powered hermit crab, and the others were cowardly snails swirled within their shells.

The people, with baskets, bags, and buckets of produce, water, and whatever else, looked up at Eighteen’s craft in awe, and then scattered like aphids at the sight of a ladybug.

Roshi peered over his lime-rimmed sunglasses and out the window at them, his feet comfortably perched on Turtle’s brown shell. “You call that old?!” he said. “What does that make me, then?!”

“Uh,” said Krillin, sass and class warring in his mind over an answer, “Timeless, Master. It makes you timeless.”

In her carseat, Marron giggled like she knew what her father had really been thinking. Ordinarily, Eighteen would have smirked, too, but she was too busy holding her emotions back behind clenched teeth.

That damned hare. She could still see his face, his eyes, the way his laboratory glimmered off his goggles. A sick part of her wondered if that stupid, tall hat his cyborg form wore had housed rabbit ears, and the living brain beneath it was only an illusion. In the darkness of her memory, his face somehow looked a lot like that of Gero.

Or the rabbit was a ghost sent to haunt her on his behalf? What was that fairytale? What was that creature called, again? A Pooka?

Demon.

She landed the craft gingerly, as to not aggravate Krillin’s wounds, and then threw all caution to the wind as she tore off her seatbelt and bolted for the red-painted, wooden door of the Son residence. Krillin called out to her, but whatever he said was lost on the wind.

Inside the house sat Chi Chi, Bulma, their sons, Vegeta, and several people Eighteen knew she’d met before, but couldn’t be bothered with concerning herself with right now. A plentiful lunch was spread over the round kitchen table before them, and Chi Chi stood halfway between the kitchen and her guests, a wooden bucket of rice in her hands.

Eighteen made a beeline towards them.

“Vegeta! Those cultists. That monster. Gohan! Where is he?!” She took a closer look at the little white-haired girl sitting between Goten and Trunks, and realized with a horrific clarity that she was the girl from the tournament, and the girl from the site of the spaceship she’d salvaged on Clio’s behalf. 

“You!”

Eighteen was on top of the table in an instant. She wrenched Calliope into the air by her collar. “You’re with the Circle, aren’t you?! Where are the others?!”

“Eighteen!” Bulma shouted, and was the first of the crowd to rise from her seat by her own volition.

“What the hell?!” shouted a girl. Videl Satan, maybe, except her hair was much too short.

Trunks and Goten both grabbed Eighteen and pulled at her arms with amazing prejudice.

“Let ‘er go!” shouted Goten. 

Trunks agreed. “It’s not her fault, whatever it is! She’s just a kid, okay?!”

“Eighteen! Calm down!” said Bulma. “Trunks and Goten are right- she’s a child!”

Eighteen ignored them and shook the girl, who couldn’t even make a sound to try and defend herself with an explanation.

“That’s just some trick! I saw you there, at the tournament, and again up north! Don’t think that just because I’ve got a daughter that I’ll be soft on you, you filthy--!”

A shrill, authoritative voice cut through the chaos and shook Eighteen to her very core. 

“How dare you!”

Chi Chi slammed the tub of steamed rice on the table. “How dare you ignore my calls, avoid my entire family for years, and then when you do come by, you break down my door, barge into my house, disrupt my lunch, and attack my guests! Let that girl go right this instant!”

Eighteen was so flabbergasted that she did. Calliope landed in her seat with a thud, and coughed with an abrasive fervor. The two boys at her side crowded her, and then sat on their hands when she pantomimed for them to give her space.

Eighteen reeled as she turned to face Chi Chi. “B-but Chi Chi, you don’t understand. She was--!”

Chi Chi levelled a finger at her. “No! You don’t understand! Your reclusive brother bothered to show himself and is workin’ as hard as he can in the wreckage of Satan City to save lives, and you and yours’ve been givin’ me complete radio silence all this time, during all of this trouble! Do you know how worried I’ve been?!”

“My brother?” said Eighteen. “Seventeen?”

“Yeah, I was just there a few days ago and saw him,” said Bulma, the utterly calm blue demon to Chi Chi’s bombastic red. “But anyway, where’s your daughter? Where’s Krillin?!”

“They’re here,” said Eighteen. “But my brother. Where exactly is he?! I have to warn him; something’s after me, and maybe him.”

“Well,” said Bulma, “He’s in the city, with another one of those cultists. What was his name, Trunks?”

“Julian Naan.” The huge man tucked between the arms of the loveseat in the corner answered instead. Eighteen was fairly certain his name was Hass, or something.

“Naan?” said that one friend of Gohan’s- that girl, Sevoya. “The healthcare mogul? That’s who’s gallivanting around in the Saiyaman getup right now?”

“That’s what I said,” said Bulma.

Healthcare? Clio was a mad scientist, but he had an entire museum of some kind of incubating specimens sitting in his lab, as well as a cyborg on his operating table. Could Clio be working on some insane, nonsensical project for Julian Naan? Could that be the common thread?

More importantly, was Seventeen in danger already, just by associating with Naan?

“Within the Circle, he goes by Polymnia,” continued Hass, “but his real name is Julian Naan.”

Mark Satan- that was the name of that celebrity sitting in the back corner, right- threw back his head and chortled. “Ha! Listen to that! Naan’s trying to keep himself relevant by playing hero, just to stay in the limelight! Everyone just wants to chase my coattails! What a fraud! A phony! Ha!”

An astounding silence met Mark Satan’s proclamation as nine people completely ignored him with every fiber of their collective being.

Eighteen whirled on Calliope. “Girl! Tell me- tell me right now- what do you know about a mad hare named Clio?!”

Calliope shrugged and shook her head.

Eighteen towered above her. “Are you lying?!”

“No!” said Goten. “Leave her alone. She was helping my brother and Vegeta. She’s our friend! None of this is her fault!”

Eighteen glared into the girl’s light eyes. She looked like the human personification of a snowflake, or perhaps a frigid, ice-lined cave that could only speak when the echo of the wind blew through its frozen stalactites and stalagmites and gave it a voice.

Calliope met her gaze, unblinkingly, and let Eighteen see all the way through her- every cruel spike and jagged edge, every secret tunnel spiraling farther and farther into the dark of the unknown.

She didn’t spot any hares creeping around in there.

“Whether she’s innocent or not is debatable,” said Eighteen. “But I think she’s telling the truth about this. This Polymnia, though, I don’t know.”

Goten and Trunks sighed mightily.

“Dandy! Now get your feet off my table,” scolded Chi Chi. “For pete’s sake! Does nobody have any manners anymore?!”

Eighteen took to the air. “Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t want to trouble you, Chi Chi. But I have to go find my brother, and I don’t have any time to waste. But I need some help.”

Chi Chi put her hands on her hips. “Which is?”

Eighteen bit her lip. Of everyone here, she was the strongest, fastest, calmest, and the most capable of acting as a bodyguard. Unfortunately, she was als, by her reckoning, a target. She couldn’t stay put and attract more trouble to herself and the people around her, or stand idly by when she knew she’d put something potentially dangerous into the hands of a madman.

However, Chi Chi was absolutely right. Eighteen had sequestered herself away from them for years under the excuse of exercising her independence, or avoiding bad blood, or moving on with her life, but the truth was that she was afraid of rejection. She always had been, so she always made it her business to be the one to leave first, before it came to that.

Eighteen hated asking for help because the worst someone could ever say was no.

“I know this is inconvenient and you’ve got a lot on your plate already, but I need you to take care of my family for a little while,” Eighteen said. Her fists clenched at her sides like she might grind diamonds to dust within them. “I know it’s a heavy imposition, but I’m not in a position where--”

Chi Chi rolled her eyes. “Oh, stop. Krillin’s a Son. You’re a Son. Marron’s a Son. No matter how long it took you to finally make your way over here, your family’s still my family, too.”

\---

Static cut through the line, and then expanded, warped, and twisted until it became a single voice. Clio.

“Hello, hello! Is anyone there?”

“Anyone? Anyone?” 

Crude, hoarse laughter. 

“Bueller? Bueller? Bueller?”

More giggles, as Clio laughed at himself. 

“...No? Not home?” 

Heh! That’s okay. I can always try another number and another time! Heh heh!”

\---

Erato returned to the Lookout like a silent storm rushing through the palm fronds and stirring up the shadows before anyone knew he was there, even Piccolo.

His black, furred, unshod feet touched down on the tile like velvet gliding over porcelain, and Piccolo did a double-take when he saw his black tail and aggravated, inflated ruff of black fur rushing towards him at an insane speed. His canines gleamed from within his mouth, and a swirl of purple energy wafted from his arms like heat. If anything, Erato looked like a man bursting out of his polished, pressed clothing as he transformed in the light of the full moon, but it was broad daylight and Erato’s body wasn’t changing or growing so much as it was finally revealing itself.

Claws tore from the ends of his fingers, and he raked them across Piccolo’s front.

Piccolo blocked, and streams of purple-blue blood sprayed from the gashes Erato left behind like jet trails appearing from the tail of a plane and into the sky. Erato’s other clawed hand reached for the space beneath Piccolo’s guard, but the Nameless Namek grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him into a hold.

Erato’s joints popped with a sickening crack, and just like that he had enough leeway to pull one arm free and tear at Piccolo’s eyes. Piccolo reeled and released him, blinded by pain and his own blood.

In the distance, he could hear Dende’s footsteps hurrying towards them, and Mister Popo’s following close behind.

“Dende!” Piccolo shouted, cracking one eye open and leveling a blast at Erato to force any kind of distance between them. “Run! Leave me, and esc--!”

Three sharp pinpricks bit into his leg, and then Piccolo couldn’t feel anything from it. He looked down at the glowing needles peering out from the dark fabric of his pants, and snarled.

Erato didn’t waste any time; he was already charging for Piccolo again, this time with both hands loaded with glowing needles. It left him open from head to torso.

Piccolo thrust his fist directly into Erato’s face, and then, when Erato sloppily sidestepped the worst of it, slammed him with another golden beam from his other palm. It grazed Piccolo’s own arm and burned as it sheared off the outer layers of his flesh, but Erato’s cry paid the difference.

But then, the smoke cleared, and Piccolo realized that, although he was smoking and could barely stand, Erato had clamped his teeth down on Piccolo’s wrist to hold him steady. His eyelashes fluttered, and his pupils- slitted, like a cat’s- dilated in one eye, but not the other, and his empty hands fell limply at his sides.

Piccolo realized he couldn’t feel his chest, couldn’t feel the pain from where Erato held him in his jaws, couldn’t feel anything. His ears rang.

Then, his vision went black. 

\---

The city was in shambles. Videl barely recognized it; it looked for all the world like someone had split Satan City into pieces like one might shatter glass, and then thrown the entire thing down a flight of stairs. Almost-intact slices of the original city bucked beneath or above ruined slices of earth and destruction. Muddy water ran in the streets from busted pipes gushing like broken arteries, and wires and demolished buildings littered the dirty rivers on the asphalt. It smelled like sewage. Everything smelled like sewage.

Videl covered her mouth and nose.

“Eighteen,” she said, “we have to help them.”

Eighteen’s hands didn’t even tremble on the controls of the jetcopter. “Later. We have to find my brother, first. Do you sense any energy around? Anywhere there might be a bunch of people?”

“Mr. Hass said they’d be at the Lucky Egg,” said Videl.

“I don’t know where that is,” said Eighteen. “That’s half of why I brought you, because you’re from here. Do you sense anything, or not?”

Videl bit her lip, and pointed. “They’re both in that direction,” she said.

Funnily enough, she could pick out the people in the distance more clearly than she could Eighteen, who was right in front of her. Instead, Eighteen filled her with a kind of chill she couldn’t explain.

Videl decided not to comment on it.

Eighteen made a noise of affirmation and accelerated through the sky with a lead foot.

“We’re cyborgs,” Eighteen said, suddenly.

Videl blinked.

“My brother and I. We’re cyborgs. We can’t sense energy, no matter what we do, and you can’t sense us. People talk about things like “twin sense” and other nonsense where we inexplicably know things about one another, but we don’t have that, either. I can do a lot of things, but I’m blind to stuff like that.”

“So that’s why you needed me?” asked Videl.

“Yes,” said Eighteen. “I would have rather taken Vegeta or Tien Shinhan, but apparently one is a vegetable and the other too busy being a recluse.” 

“Tien Shinhan’s hard to find, sometimes,” said Videl.

She moved a strand of blonde hair from her face. “Sorry.”

“Uh,” said Videl. “It’s fine.

“It’s not,” said Eighteen. “Everything about this is completely ridiculous.” Then, suddenly, she smiled. “Well, well. Good job.”

Videl leaned forwards and peered out the window. 

In front of them stood the Lucky Egg, it’s foundation massively warped, but still intact. A line of smoke puffed from the metal chimney by the kitchen, and people huddled in a line by the front door, or in shanty tents or the doorways of the other buildings still intact after the disaster. Behind the building was an enormous water tank emblazoned with the Capsule Corporation logo, and a gaggle of folks in white rubber uniforms doing some kind of maintenance on it.

It didn’t smell as much like contaminated water, here.

Videl squinted at the faces of the civilians. They looked haggard and dirty, and like whatever they had worn the moment of the earthquake was what they were wearing now. But other than that, they looked alright.

And, actually, some of them looked familiar.

“Hey!” shouted Videl. “Those are my friends! That’s Erasa and Sharpner! They’re okay!”

“And that’s not all,” said Eighteen, pointing down the crooked street, away from the Lucky Egg. Videl followed her finger.

A figure dressed in bright green beneath an orange and black helmet sauntered down the street with a disheveled, hunched-over figure handcuffed in front of him.

“Saiyaman,” conformed Videl.

“Naan,” said Eighteen, and abandoned the craft controls.

Videl dove for them.

“What are you doing?!” she hollered, righting the jetcopter from veering off-course and splitting her attention between the air in front of her and Eighteen, who had built a ball of light in her hand on her way out.

“Don’t fire at him!” shouted Videl. “He’s a regular human! He might die!”

Eighteen’s eyes were frigid, but she did think about her choice. “What would you suggest, then?!”

“Uh,” Videl looked at the controls in her hands. Then, she grinned and rocketed towards Saiyaman and his cuffed companion at maximum speed, like the two of them were riding inside of a bat launching itself out of Hell. Eighteen tumbled to the back of the vehicle, her eyelids splayed wide open.

“Hold on,” Videl warned, belatedly, and charged directly at Saiyaman.

Saiyaman turned when he heard the engine, and not even the dark visor of his helmet could hide the white-cheeked, bug-eyed panic that erupted from him as he let the disheveled man go and pushed both of them out of Videl’s way.

However, Videl and Saiyaman never would have collided, anyway. At the last second, she pulled the controls up and to the left, and the jetcopter corkscrewed over and away from them.

Videl loved jetcopters. They were so much more responsive than helicopters or planes. Oh, how she missed hers. It was yellow, and the only vehicle she could ever want.

Outside, the cloak of Saiyaman’s companion fell to the mercy of the wind that Videl’s stunt kicked up, and the wings and feathers of the man beneath it quivered and spasmed in the open air.

“W-wings?!” screeched Videl. “Why does that weirdo have wings?!”

“One thing at a time, Videl!” barked Eighteen, her focus trained on Saiyaman.

Videl righted the craft, took it around to burn off the excess speed, and landed. 

Eighteen bolted out of it like a shot and pinned Saiyaman to the ground. The winged man seized the moment and ran off down a side street, wings flapping awkwardly with each uneven stride.

“No!” screamed Saiyaman, his arm outstretched as if to pull him back through his will alone.

Eighteen couldn’t care less. She grabbed Saiyaman’s helmet and tossed it away, and the face of Son Gohan stared up at her, betrayed.

Eighteen all but jumped off of him in shock. 

“How?!”

Behind her, Videl exited the jetcopter and ran towards the scene of the conflict with a gaping mouth.

“But th-that’s not Gohan,” she said. “The energy is all wrong! That can’t be him!”

Gohan’s lookalike climbed to his feet and hurried in the direction the winged man had escaped. Videl rushed forwards and pinned him to the ground before he could get very far, and then started tugging on his face.

He cried out in pain.

“That’s very clever, wearing a mask!” she said. “But it’s over! We know you’re not Gohan! So give it up!”

“Stop pulling on my face!” shouted not-Gohan.

“It’s not your face!” screeched Videl. “It’s all a lie! This is Gohan’s!” She pulled harder.

Not-Gohan’s face suddenly erupted into a plume of smoke, like he’d somehow stuffed himself inside of a Capsule. When it cleared, the face of someone older and more handsome than Gohan stared back at Videl from between her merciless hands and insistent fingers.

“Like I said, this is my face!” The man hissed. “And what the hell is wrong with you?! You let that creep from the Satan City Circle get away! Do you know how hard they were to track down?! Do you?!”

Videl tugged on his head one more time, just to make sure she couldn’t make him change faces again in a new plume of smoke.

“Stop!” he said. “I’m not actually Saiyaman, okay?” Leave me alone! Let me go! I’m on your side!”

Eighteen walked over and stomped her foot on the asphalt, right between his legs.

“Oh, yeah? Is that so?” Her frown could strike fear in the heart of the most indestructible. “Then where’s my brother, asshole?”

Polymnia’s eyes widened at her, like he hadn’t actually seen her until this moment. “The sister,” he said. “Seventeen’s sister. Oh. Of course.”

“I’m right here,” said someone, a dark-haired man who all but sprang into being right behind Eighteen. 

“Boo!” Seventeen said, and laughed.

\---

The mountain air was clear and fresh, but in an entirely different way than the sea. It reminded Krillin of the monastery of his infancy and youth, back before he had ever met Goku or his Master Roshi.

The stitches in his stomach throbbed. He wondered if he should regret ever allowing himself to get dragged into this mess, for ever leaving the monks in his childhood in search of power to try and build any self esteem whatsoever. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if his wife hadn’t just blasted off into the sky with all the hubris of the most obnoxiously masculine, overprotective manly man provider that Krillin would never be, but right now he felt like indulging in some self-pity.

Self-doubt suited him. He hated that. But regret didn’t, so the two disparate pieces of his mood and persona fought one another like oil and water. Goku was his best friend, and without him, Krillin would have been, well, he would have been it, whatever it was.

A monk? Roshi’s only student, his only Son descendent? A whelp with no family and more bullies than he could count, and no spine?

He was stumped, honestly. The gentle mountain breeze ruffled the beginnings of the hair he’d grown while his injury left him on his back most of the time, like it was scratching his head for him. 

What kind of person would Krillin be without all of this nonsense?

Sevoya cut through the grass and journeyed up the hill towards him. Krillin had seen her walking along the ridge nearby a while ago, and had wondered how long it would take her to come his way. She’d looked aimless, and frustrated.

“Hey,” she said. “How did you get all the way out here?!”

The mountain range spread out in the distance before them, and the Son household was at least a mile behind them. Butter yellow flowers and a sea of tall grass covered the hill beneath Krillin, and the earthen and orange butterflies bold enough to brave the late spring fluttered around his head as his only other companions.

Krillin grinned. “I have my ways, even as an invalid.” He turned his head to try and look at her. All he got was her legs and an unfortunate upshot of her skirt, though. Roshi would probably be proud, and that made Krillin feel incredibly dirty. “Did you come out here to wallow and question your future, too?”

Sevoya’s toes stuttered in the dirt, but she didn’t say anything.

“C’mon! Come wallow. It’s fun. And, not to get up in your business and be a creep, but I don’t think that gun strapped to your thigh is the right kind to practice with in a place like this. Or a place like this isn’t the right place to practice with that gun, I guess.” Krillin smiled. “You need flat ground, and a range with a target, for starters.”

“I could use trees,” said Sevoya. She snorted. “I could use you.”

Krillin laughed. “Woah! You talk to all the boys like that?”

Sevoya tensed, and Krillin knew he’d said the wrong thing. 

“Don’t act like you’ve got any clue what you’re talking about,” she said. “And about looking up my skirt- are you just like the old man you brought with you? Because maybe I should shoot you and do your wife a favor.”

Krillin winced. “Yeowch. You don’t pull punches, do you?”

“Neither do you,” said Sevoya. “You just don’t hit hard enough for them to do anything.”

“Mercy!” said Krillin, putting his hand over his heart. “I’m out! I’m out! Did you not see the bandages? I can’t take any more!”

That got Sevoya to laugh, or something like it. 

She sat down next to Krillin and smoothed down the skirt of her dress. It was yellow, and a thick, quality material. One of Bulma’s, most likely. The gun was probably also one of Bulma’s.

The emerald necklace, however, could be anybody’s, and was probably a better thing to talk about than Gohan, or Fire Mountain, or anything.

“That’s a pretty necklace,” said Krillin.

Sevoya kept her eyes on the blue and green vista rolling out beneath the sky in front of her. “Thanks. It was a present from my mother when I was ten. It’s got poison in it so I could kill myself.”

Krillin cringed so intensely that he felt it pulling at his stitches.

“N-not now,” clarified Sevoya. “When the Cell Games were happening, and we thought he was gonna win.”

Krillin’s stare remained unbroken, and then he held out his arm.

“I’m not going to! I’m not!” said Sevoya, scooting away from him. “That’s just why my mom gave it to me!”

Krillin beckoned for the necklace.

“Look, I don’t have to give you anything, alright?! This is mine! It’s not your business.”

“Uh.” Krillin’s hand remained outstretched. “It’s my business, now, since you opened your mouth.” His fingers clamped shut towards his palm. “Gimme.”

“No!”

“Please?!”

“No! How do I know you won’t do something weird with it?! Huh? How do I know you won’t use it on somebody?! Your wife looked like she was about to behead poor Calliope! How do I know you aren’t any different?!”

Good point.

“Well, can you at least, like, stop carrying the gun?”

“I know you’re a monk and a martial artist, and believe in pacifism and all that, but honestly? I might actually need it. There’s bears and dinosaurs out here, and whatever else.”

“I’m not a monk, I don’t believe in pacifism, and that gun is no good if you don’t know how to use it,” pointed out Krillin.

Sevoya glared at him, and her hair fluttered like purple wisteria in the wind as she tossed her head and crossed her arms.

“I’m just sayin’,” said Krillin.

“You’re right,” Sevoya admitted, and dropped her hands into her lap.

The grass waved in the wind around her like she was an island sitting in a sea of green. The yellow of her dress shimmered against the blue sky and her dark skin like a beacon in the mountains.

“Say, I don’t know another way to ask this, but I think it’s better if I know.” said Sevoya. “Is your wife… is she human?”

Krillin returned her glare from a moment ago. He couldn’t help it. “Yes, Eighteen is human.”

Sevoya nodded. “Okay.” Then, she swallowed. “Is Gohan… is Gohan human?”

“Oh,” said Krillin, wiping at his face. “So this is what this is about.” He sighed. “Hey, you’re a really bad conversationalist, you know that?”

Sevoya nodded. “Right back at you, short stuff.”

“So you’re really not going to let the necklace go?”

“Not if you’re not, no.”

Krillin’s head hit the earth with a thud, and he sighed. “Alright, alright. I’m gonna start this one at the beginning, so you’re gonna have to show a little patience and bear with me for a minute. Alright?”

\---

“Ring ring! Ring ring! Helloooo? Is anyone there?” 

“...No? Not at this number, either?”

“Heh heh. Seems like a lot of these communication lines were abandoned. Or maybe destroyed? Heh!” 

“Well, don’t worry. I’ve got all the persistence of a telemarketer, and thrice the brains. I’ll find you! Ciao!”


	43. Missed Call, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erato and Dende have a chat while Clio holds.

That’s your decision to make,” said Erato. “I won’t ask that of you.”

  
Dende’s palms itched, but he found that his hands wouldn’t move out of his lap.

  
“Where are you taking me?” he asked.

  
“To a friend,” said Erato. “I have known her for a long time. She’s the smartest and most trustworthy person I know.”

  
“Yes,” said Dende. “Another of your muses.” He ran through the Circle members in his mind. “Your Urania.”

  
Erato’s eyes flicked over to Dende, and then back to the open air.

  
“If you knew, why did you ask?”

  
Dende smiled, almost, but it soured on his face. “If you knew that I would know, why did you question who I was on the Lookout?”

  
Erato shifted in his seat, his expression refreshingly childish for how poised and authoritatively he usually presented himself. His shredded clothing made it all the more bizarre. “If you knew about us all along, why did you not come and speak to us after the Cell Games? Or during the Tenkaichi Budokai tournament?” His black tail swatted at the air, like Gohan’s did in moments of hostile annoyance. “Why did you leave us to start a conflict you knew we would pay for, dearly?”

  
Needles. Erato hurled them at Piccolo on the Lookout, and now it was Dende’s turn. The questions pricked at his skin and locked his jaw. He expected them, but they still stung.  
“Broly, the giant, I could not see. I cannot see all things, you understand, and had no idea about his presence prior to now.”

  
Dende looked out the window. The world outside looked like it was caught in a blender and being torn apart more and more with each degree of revolution it made around the sun.  
“I also do not make it my business to spy on everyone on Earth at every waking moment. I would lose my mind.”

  
Erato didn’t exactly frown, but he didn’t sneer, either. “Yes, and? What about the tournament? What about the rest?”

  
Dende pursed his lips, and then wiped at them.

  
“Well?” asked Erato. “You know as well as I do that I would have stopped everything Terpsichore suggested had you pulled me up to your tower and shown me, without any sugar to coat it, exactly what Son Gohan was and is. Failing that, Terpsichore would never have said a word to me about any of it had you- and I mean this very literally- put the fear of god in him. Send the Demon King Piccolo to his doorstep, and he would have shut the whole thing down by his damned self!”

  
“You were arrogant enough to meddle in something you didn’t understand,” said Dende.

  
Erato’s claws tore into the grips of the steering. “Against what authority? Which one?! Did you have a holy book somewhere I didn’t see that said not to question the false savior Mark Satan, and why?!”

  
“Erato, I understand that you have always been a radical because your entire existence is just as radical. You should know that every situation like this has drastic consequences regardless of whether you are right or wrong.”

  
“Don’t preach to me,” said Erato. “You think I don’t know that?! Tell me what purpose this chaos has served you, if in the end you bowed your head and let me take you down from your tower the moment I bared my teeth.”

  
“That is not what I mean.” Dende’s hands shook, but he spoke. “Do you know how many tragedies I see, daily, even during times of peace? How many families torn apart by foolish disputes, or how many lives cut short by stupid decisions that could have been avoided had anyone else been there? Do you know how many crimes I see happen, not out of necessity, but just for the sake of one person exerting power over someone else?”

  
“That doesn’t answer my question. I’d appreciate it if you’d stop dodging.”

  
“My duties involve ensuring the future and well being of the planet as a whole,” said Dende. “I don’t have the authority nor the power to send miracles to resolve every problem that plagues humanity, and I don’t delude myself into thinking that the problems of humanity alone are the only thing on this Earth that I should focus my attention on.”

  
Erato didn’t say anything, but Dende did not miss the recalcitrant, undermining glance sent his way.

  
Dende answered it, and with more venom than he expected. “The wolves in the eastern forests war with one another over resources so viciously that they’ve been killing one another in full conflict for three generations, now. Did you know that? They’ve both grown so large that they’ve decimated their food sources, and have started preying on the humans in the area in groups out of desperation, so much so that it’s killed industrial and lumber trade in the area. The local towns are economically barren and the people destitute, because they don’t have the means to leave, either.”

  
Dende looked outside the window. He could see it happening on the planet below, could see the suffering of the world reflected back at him off the glass panes: thick forests of green boughs so dark they might be black at the bottom, down where the fog obscured the roots and the creatures inside. A set of glowing yellow eyes cutting through the darkness. Then, two more, another set, another, another, and then the forest was alight with hunger and desperation.

  
The vision changed to eerily calm, green waters.

  
“On the far side of the Emerald Sea, a group of dolphins have taken to stealing barrels of toxic chemicals from ships by sinking them outright and dumping their contents on known orca territory. Of course, the orca die, but so does the entire ecosystem of the area. For humanity’s part, the seafaring tribes of the southeast are starving, poisoned, or already dying, and so are any other surviving predators.”

  
A crack appeared in the corpses of the sea and sucked them down with a burning, horrific greed.

  
“And on the other side of the world, the great fissure we’ve just experienced aggravated an existing chain of underwater volcanoes and birthed a new island, but at the price of an entire species of ancient, deep-sea cuttlefish- a species that, if you must know, produced an enzyme that your scientists believed to be a cure for cancer, and that the Capsule Corporation’s growing medical branch thought might cure diabetes, if used with a different approach. As for me, I know for a fact that, given time and experimentation, that same enzyme is the key to the closest thing to a panacea this planet has.”

  
The window only showed the sky, now, but with a lingering, sinister red tinge.

  
“However, regardless of how many problems rewinding even one of those events with the Dragon Balls would potentially solve, you believe they would be best used snuffing out the lives of three individuals trapped in a situation that you aggravated.

  
Would you like me to go on?”

  
Erato grit his teeth. His incisors looked like curved knives.

  
“I am tasked with acting as the caretaker of the Earth as a whole, not as the caretaker of the planet as represented by a particular species,” said Dende.

  
“You still didn’t answer my question,” said Erato. “Why not involve yourself before it came to this?”

  
“I thought I just explained--!”

  
“No!” growled Erato. “You explained to me why you look down on my choice of a wish. But this situation directly involves you. You are sitting next to me, on the way to an interview, and you know it.” He composed himself. “Why?”

  
First, he was assaulted by needles, and now, a heartbeat. Dende could hear the thudding in its ears, loud and clear, like it could smash every thought out of his head with a persistent rhythm. Why was it suddenly so incredibly, cloyingly loud? Was that Erato’s heart?

  
No. It was Dende’s own heart. It slammed against the inside of his chest like a creature desperate to get out.

  
He stared out the window again.

  
“This was a golden chance,” said Dende. “I let a lie cover over the fallout of the final mistake of my predecessor, and acting complacent in that was was my first mistake.”

  
Erato turned his head.

  
“I knew about you, Erato. I knew about your Circle, and your mission. I knew about the anger that bound you together, and the oppression, and how many suffered after Mark Satan decided on such a ridiculous lie. I saw what great lengths Gohan went to hide himself away just to gain acceptance even though he cluelessly assumed the lie was harmless.” Dende covered his mouth. “I realized his naive, self-destructive complacency and your suffering were two sides of the same coin.”

  
Erato’s eyes were huge. “You sent Gohan to Terpsichore.”

  
“I knew about you,” repeated Dende, hands shaking. “I knew you were a radical willing to take the risk of revealing yourself, so long as you could make the world swallow the truth. I knew that you were used to the burden it would bring. But more than that I also knew,” the heartbeat in Dende’s ears grew so loud that he thought his ears might burst, “for all your arrogance, I knew you would walk away from naming Gohan the champion of your cause the moment you knew who and what he was, and what he could do! You would choose to let the Sundrop Children remain in obscurity, so long as the world admitted they existed!”

  
Erato said nothing. He sent the craft down, and drifted until he came to a grass-topped ridge overlooking the tiny smear of mountains just north of West City. He landed, and then sat in the pilot’s seat with his hands in his lap, perfectly still.

  
Dende snivelled in the seat next to him. It was as if the two of them were trapped in a snowglobe, utterly isolated and stationary despite the chaos of the icy flakes whirling around their stone bodies.

“You used us,” said Erato.

  
“It was not so calculated as that,” said Dende.

  
“But you didn’t stop it,” said Erato.

  
“I never expected for anyone to die at the tournament, and I never knew you had something as disastrous as a Legendary Saiyan hidden away in your base!”

  
“You were arrogant enough to meddle with something you didn’t understand,” parroted Erato.

  
Something about Erato’s tone painted Dende’s vision red. “I did not stop you because I chose to trust you!” cried Dende. His tears felt hot on his cheek. “But I am here, now, to try and stop it, now! I have been here! We have to stop this, but focusing on eliminating Gohan will not solve the problem!”

  
Erato’s tail, which had been frighteningly still, began to twitch again from where it was wrapped around his seat.

  
“That may be so, but,” Erato shook his head, “it sounds like your affection for Gohan eclipses your judgement.”

  
“What?!” asked Dende. “This is not only about him- it is about you, also! Don’t you understand that?!”

  
“Don’t pretend with me,” said Erato. “How convenient that your job is such a watertight excuse for you to wriggle out of admitting that you’re in love with the planet’s greatest threat.”

  
Suddenly, the cacophony in Dende’s ears was muffled, like Erato had grabbed him by the neck and thrust his head under water.

  
“What?”

  
“Did you not realize it?” asked Erato. “An omniscient god, and you were blind to something like that?”

  
Dende’s fangs tore at his lip as he bit down and wiped his sweaty palms on his knees.

  
“I don’t understand,” said Dende. “When Piccolo would tell me these things, I always thought… I…!”

  
“How old are you?” interrupted Erato.

  
“What does that have to do with anything?!” asked Dende.

  
“I’ve indulged you this far. Indulge me,” said Erato. “Answer me.”

  
Dende tried to count the cycles of the three suns on Namek and reconcile them with the passing of years on Earth. He made a guess as he stuttered over the time in his mind. “P-perhaps seventeen. In Earth years.”

  
“Hm,” said Erato. “That’s all.” He licked his lips. “How long have you been Guardian?”

  
“Since just before the Cell Games. Seven years,” said Dende, relieved by an easy answer.

  
Erato only nodded. “And who was Guardian before you?”

  
“Kami,” said Dende, dazed. “Kami, who is now one with Piccolo, as he became one with Nail. They are father, son, and a spirit, but I am only Dende.”

  
Erato clicked his tongue in place of admitting how much he did not understand. “Hm.” He started the engine once more. “Urania will make more sense of this than I will.”

  
Dende put his face in his hands.

  
Erato made a noise like laughter, but tainted by ire. “Well, take heart in knowing that the hard part of your conversation with me, at least, is over. With yourself? I have no idea.”

  
\---  
“Spacegreetings and spacesalutations, spacefriends! Are you ready to talk?”

  
Silence. Clio adjusted a few dials.

  
“No?” He pressed a button. “Still no?”

  
The speaker crackled, but that was about it.

  
“Aw, spacerats! Oh, well! Next time’s the charm!”

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and thank you for reading! I am more or less exploring all the themes the comic and show skipped out on when they chose to relegate Goku back to the status of main character, and then a few more. There will be Great Saiyaman. There will be a great appreciation for the original Dragonball. There will also be Dende. And Piccolo. There is no Gohan story without Piccolo.
> 
> There will also be fight scenes and the kind of thing you'd expect from the canon, but inverted in some places and warped in others. I ask that you hold tight and trust me on this one!


End file.
